Information
by CreativeReading
Summary: Takes place immediately after the end of Captain America: The Winter Soldier. In their search to find out what happened to Bucky, Steve and Sam travel to Buenos Aires and track down an ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Can they overcome her reluctance to help them? Rated T for violence and non-graphic references to torture.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note-**I own nothing from Marvel. All the OCs are mine.

* * *

**Ending of Captain America: The Winter Soldier**

"So, when do we start?" Sam asked, ready to help.

Steve's head snapped up, "We just did."

**Ch. 1**

It was supposed to be an easy first step. Take the information on Bucky that he had gotten from Natasha and match it with any current S.H.I.E.L.D. agents working in the area. Sam and Steve first went to Moscow and had limited success. It took them nearly a week to track down an ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agent that they could get some useful intel from. He gave them a few leads that sent them to Buenos Aires to track down some of the original Hydra agents.

Steve contacted Natasha once again and she had suggested a current level six agent, Alma Iglesias, that was assigned to the area. Natasha had worked with the operative before and knew her to be a reliable agent. Since the essential dissolution of S.H.I.E.L.D., Natasha was scrambling to find her own place in the world and wasn't able to help them. Steve was just glad to get any information to help him find out what had happened to Bucky and track him down.

00000

It took Sam and Steve over a week to find Alma. Steve's primary focus when working for S.H.I.E.L.D. had been planning raids, not collecting intelligence. Luckily, Sam's Army experience gave him a more well-rounded background and he was able to finally pinpoint her location based on the intel from the S.H.I.E.L.D. documents they had access to. When they finally did find her, seemingly wandering aimlessly in the La Boca neighborhood of the city, Steve was shocked. She didn't appear like any agent he'd ever seen before. She looked a mess, like she was homeless.

Her long, lank, greasy hair obscured her face. With her caramel colored skin and dark hair, she blended into the crowds that frequented the famous colorful neighborhood a lot better than Sam and Steve did in their hoodies and baseball caps. She looked too old to be a runaway, probably in her late 20s. She wore ripped, faded jeans and an over-sized stained blue sweater that hit her mid-thigh and scuffed black combat boots, the kind bought more for fashion than utility. However, she walked with a cat-like grace that belied the idea that she was someone who slept on the streets.

As they began to follow her at a respectable distance, she abruptly turned down a corner into a narrow alleyway and Steve looked over to Sam, who nodded. They followed her as she walked on, not bothering to look back at them.

She stopped in front of a high, chain link fence, blocking her exit. She turned and Steve tensed to see the Glock in her hands, pointing at him.

**"Boludos**, you so chose the wrong girl to mug," she snarled.

* * *

Author's Note- This is a little plot bunny that was born after watching CA:TWS.

**Rough Spanish translation**-

**Boludos** - Idiots


	2. Chapter 2

**Ch. 2**

As Alma stared at the two men in front of her, she could tell almost instantly that they were U.S. military from their bearing and posture. They were about five or six inches taller than her and each had at least good sixty pounds of pure muscle on her. She knew the situation could get ugly real fast. She kept her gun trained on the taller one, his blue eyes narrowed in concern.

She sighed. "I'm not going down without a fight. At the very least, I'm sending one of you to the morgue and the other to the hospital," she bluffed.

Steve raised his hands slowly and gave her a wide smile. "Whoa. Whoa. We're not here to hurt you. We just came for some information."

Sporting the stubbly beginnings of a beard, it took her a moment to place him.

"So, it's everyone's least favorite Boy Scout. I didn't recognize you at first with that pathetic attempt at facial hair," she snarked, returning her weapon to the holster underneath her sweater.

He rubbed his chin and gave his trademark boyish grin."That was the idea."

She waved over to Sam. "So, you must be his wingman."

Sam flashed her a brilliant smile. "I like to think of him as my wingman."

The agent smiled at that. "You, I like."

She pointed at Steve. "You . . . Well, if I saw someone set fire to you on the street, I'd roast marshmallows in the flames."

"What? Are you Hydra?" Steve asked as he tensed.

She shook her head. "Hell, no. You think Hydra are the only people you've pissed off? You've been crossed off everyone's Christmas card list for that little stunt of yours. Dumping all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s secrets onto the internet like that. S.H.I.E.L.D. got declared a terrorist organization because of what you did. I thought you guys were military sent to bring me in."

"We're not," Sam said with a reassuring smile.

She glared at Steve. "Did you give any thought about what you were doing before going straight to the scorched earth option? How many dozens of operations were botched because of your stunt? The hostage situation in Bogotá? The human-trafficking ring they were about to bust out of Taipei?"

Steve's eyebrows furrowed. "What was S.H.I.E.L.D. doing about that?"

"Loki's spear went missing. Probably your Hydra pals. Someone tried to reverse engineer it. Think of it. Living dolls ready to do your bidding. You want a soldier, an assassin, an escort for the night? You choose. Fully compliant and obedient. Thanks to you uploading all our intel, they knew that S.H.I.E.L.D. was closing in, so they liquidated their entire stock of guinea pigs. Seventy-six men and women slaughtered in a warehouse," she bit out.

Steve winced at her words. "Hydra was going to kill millions," he insisted.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, and the only way to stop them was to expose everything. Or was it? Do you know how many assets, how many informants for S.H.I.E.L.D. got their throats slit over what you decided to put on the internet?"

"The secrets that S.H.I.E.L.D. was hiding jeopardized thousands of lives."

"You know for a 95 year old, you are surprisingly naïve. You don't think the Americans kept secrets from the Nazis in World War II? " she argued.

"That was different. That was war," Steve maintained.

"You don't think we're in a war right now?" Her lip curled in disgust.

"Look," Sam broke in with a grin. "We just need some information. Will you help us?"

* * *

**Author's Note**- I hope you're enjoying this story. Thank you for the reviews, PMs, follows and favorites! I love knowing that you are interested in the story!

I've written another Captain America story (nearly 80,000 words and counting) that you might like to check out. It's called "**The Captain's Bride"**.


	3. Chapter 3

**Ch. 3**

"Did you not hear the marshmallow comment? No, I most certainly won't help you. Find your own information." She walked briskly by them to head out of the alleyway, but Steve caught her upper arm as she passed him.

"We need some answers and we're not going anywhere until we find them," Steve said earnestly.

"Let go of my arm," Alma said in a low and deadly tone, staring daggers at him. "Don't ever touch me, Rogers. I know I could never take you in a fair fight, but you touch me again and the next time you sleep, I'll slit your throat."

He quickly let go of her.

"Look, I've got to go. I've got a meet. I can't have you guys hanging around me," she insisted.

"We're not leaving until we get the information we need," Sam said, blocking her exit.

"If you are seen anywhere near me, it'll blow my cover. Thanks to your little information dump, I've got a lot of old enemies gunning for me," she said.

"We're not going anywhere," Steve said firmly.

Alma took a moment, quickly going through her options. "Fine, fine. Look, hang back from a distance. Try to look inconspicuous. I've got to finish up this business and get paid. Afterwards, we can talk."

Alright," Steve relented. He'd rather have her be at least a tiny bit cooperative. Working with ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives was proving to be much more difficult than he had anticipated.

She nodded. "It's a bit of a walk and I'm late," she said, and began to hurry towards her destination.

Sam shrugged his shoulders and he and Steve began to follow her from a discreet distance. After a little over a half mile, they came upon a beautiful park with large grassy areas and a playground. Steve looked down at his phone to find the name of it, Lezama Park.

He and Sam strolled leisurely down the tree-lined paved walkways inside the park, trying to blend in as best they could as Alma scurried towards a sculpture garden. They stopped near a large tree next to the garden where they were able to observe Alma. They both took out their phones and began to fiddle with them, faking an enthusiastic conversation while keeping an eye on Alma.

In the middle of the sculpture garden, seated on a bench made of wood and metal, near a large white gazebo was an attractive middle-aged woman. Her reddish-brown hair was piled up in a soft bun and she was sporting a crisp white blouse and a long red A-line skirt. She was tapping her heels nervously and looking around, smiling widely when she finally saw Alma.

She opened a red clutch purse and handed a small white envelope to Alma when she sat down next to her. Alma opened the envelope, smiled at the contents and stuffed it in her backpack. Alma took a large manila envelope out of the backpack and handed it over. The older woman opened the manila envelope and began to shake and cry when she looked inside.

Alma patted her back awkwardly and spoke to the woman, who nodded at her words. After a moment, the older woman straightened and dried her tears, giving Alma a curt nod. Alma gave her a wan smile and the older woman stood to leave, still clutching the manila envelope.

For a few moments after the woman left, Alma sat on the bench looking a bit tired and forlorn. Finally, she squared her shoulders and stood up, heading back out of the park. Steve jogged over to her to catch up.

"What part of hang back and don't look conspicuous is hard for you to understand, Rogers?" she bit out.

"You said we'd talk after the meet," Steve said.

"Look, we need to get off the streets. I told you that having you around puts me in danger. Just tail me back to my place and we can talk in private," she countered.

Steve clenched his hands in frustration. He was so tired of this pointless cloak and dagger posturing.

"Fine, but no more putting it off," he said curtly and motioned over to Sam to follow him.

"I wouldn't dream of it," she said sarcastically, hoisting the dirty backpack onto her shoulders and once again, heading out of the park.

* * *

**Author's Note**- Thank you once again for all of the review, follows and favorites!

For those of you reading my post-Avengers Captain America story, **"The Captain's Bride"**, Chapter 23 is posted!


	4. Chapter 4

**Ch. 4**

True to her word, Alma led Sam and Steve back to her apartment in a quiet, older building on a narrow street lined with trees whose leaves were just beginning to turn colors*. They walked the five flights of stairs up to her place, waiting impatiently as she searched her backpack for her keys.

"**Hola, Señora Castro**," Alma said deferentially as an elderly lady poked her head out of the apartment next door while Alma fiddled with her lock.

The woman looked at Alma, Sam and Steve through narrowed eyes. "**Mi edificio no es un burdel**," she hissed and began to mutter viciously under her breath before retreating back into her apartment and slamming the door shut.

"What did she say?" Steve asked.

"Two attractive unmarried men coming to my apartment. What do you think she called me?" she asked as she opened the door and ushered them in.

"Attractive?" Sam asked with a suggestive grin.

Alma looked over at Steve and rolled her eyes at his confused expression before she explained.

"She thinks I'm a streetwalker. Joke's on her. I don't make that much money. She'll regret it when the rent comes due," Alma said as she placed her backpack on the small coffee table in front of the couch.

Steve looked around the tiny one bedroom apartment. It had all the bland personality of a standard hotel room. In the living room, there was a small white couch facing an entertainment system with a TV and a desk with a wooden chair. He could see a tiny kitchen that was similarly barren of any of the little touches people use to make a house a home. From the open door to the bedroom, he saw only a twin bed and a night stand.

"Are you done checking out the place?" Alma snapped.

Steve colored at being caught out. He wished he could be as relaxed about this part of their mission as Sam seemed to be. He was already lounging on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table.

"You know, Rogers, I busted my butt for nearly ten years for S.H.I.E.L.D. and I just barely made level six. You show up with some engineered muscles and they start you off at level eight. Hardly seems fair, " she said.

"It doesn't really matter now, does it?" Sam pointed out with an arched eyebrow.

"I guess you're right," Alma conceded ruefully. "It must have hit Agent Coulson hard to have his hero destroy the only family Coulson's ever known. I mean, he was a lifer. No wife, no kids. He was completely devoted to S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Phil Coulson died before the Battle of New York," Steve said stiffly.

"They really kept you in the dark. Compartmentalized knowledge and all that," she smirked.

"He's alive? How did you find out?" Steve asked urgently.

"I have a friend who worked at the Hub. He walked in one day, a few months ago, with his whole team. She sent me a photo. Here," and with that, Alma took out her phone. A few moments later, she showed him a photo of Phil Coulson with a contingent of men and women walking through the Hub.

"Huh," Steve said, completely nonplussed.

"I guess there were a few extra secrets you still hadn't uncovered," she said with a slight smile.

"They lied to me. They said he was dead," he said slowly.

"Well, martyrdom does tend to rally the troops," she said lightly as she returned her phone to her backpack.

"And you wonder why I leaked all that information on the internet? How many lies, how much manipulation does it takes before you say enough is enough?" Steve spat out.

"Don't become a part of a spy organization if you can't handle a few secrets," she retorted as she took the white envelope out of her backpack and began to count the money inside.

"What did you get paid for? Why was that lady crying?" Sam asked her.

"I had to take a P.I. job. Because of my association with S.H.I.E.L.D., I've been branded a terrorist by the US government. There aren't many legal jobs for people with my expertise and guess what? The CIA isn't hiring at the moment**."

"P.I.?" Steve asked.

"Yep. Seems my handy, dandy S.H.I.E.L.D. credit card no longer works and all my fun S.H.I.E.L.D. bank accounts have been frozen. Which means I am in a foreign country with no access to my funds. So, I scrounged around and found a little P.I. job to tide me over. Girl's gotta eat. And, thanks to you, every single enemy that I've ever made while working for S.H.I.E.L.D. is gunning for me since they now know all my S.H.I.E.L.D. approved travel plans. It's only a matter of time before I wake up dead," she said, flashing him a sarcastic smile.

"What kind of P.I. work?" Sam asked.

"Uggh. My least favorite kind. Honey trap," she shuddered.

"Honey trap?" Steve asked.

"Well, isn't he the innocent?" she said to Sam. She looked over to Steve. "A honey trap is when you get someone to seduce the spouse you think might be unfaithful. If they take the bait, voila!"

Steve curled his lip in disgust. "Seems like a horrible way to make a living."

"Says the man who got me fired," she snarled. "Look, I needed the money. If the guy buys me the drink and I can get him on tape offering me a sleepover, there you go. The wife finally knows if her husband is a lying, cheating son of a . . . . well, you get the picture. I could have done the whole exchange wirelessly, but some people like to do it old school; they want to actually hold the evidence in their hands. Anyhow, it's not a permanent job choice. It's just until I can scrape up enough money to get away."

Alma paused a moment. "As much as I would love to continue this conversation, I need to hop in the shower. Since you guys blew my cover, there's no need to keep up the pretense of being homeless."

"We need to talk," Steve said.

"And we will. But I haven't had a shower in three days and I've smeared these clothes with rotting food and other vile things I'd rather not mention. Your eyes are being to water from the stench and your friend over there looks like he's about to pass out."

"Please, please let the poor woman take a shower," Sam pled with a mocking grin, as he looked over at Steve.

"Alright," Steve relented.

"And burn those clothes," Sam added.

"Fine," Alma agreed with a laugh as she headed into the bathroom.

* * *

**Author's Note**-

*Even though it's April, the seasons are switched in Argentina from what they would be in the U.S. It is fall in Argentina.

** Yes, I saw the end credits of CA:TWS and I know that Sharon AKA Agent 13 becomes a part of the C.I.A. I suspect however, that all ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents would have to be thoroughly vetted before being allowed in and that the process would take some time. Additionally, there might be a glut of ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents scrambling for jobs, making it difficult to obtain one.

**Rough Spanish translation-**

Hello, Mrs. Castro

My building is not a brothel.


	5. Chapter 5

**Ch. 5 **

Sam and Steve spent the next twenty minutes discretely searching Alma's apartment while she took a shower and got dressed. They found nothing of interest save a password-protected laptop and cache of passports with various fake identities. Of course, Steve reasoned that her passports were useless now. Like Natasha, all of Alma's S.H.I.E.L.D. created alternate names had been uploaded to the internet and flagged by a variety of governmental agencies.

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, Steve blinked at the change. Her glossy coal black hair was pulled back in a long, loose french braid, a few curls escaping here and there. Her dark eyes were lined with kohl and her full lips were a pouty red. She wore jeans that looked liked they were painted on and a red long sleeve knit top that clung to every curve. No wonder she found work leading husbands astray. He couldn't stop himself from staring at the transformation.

"Damn, girl, you clean up nice." Sam grinned as he looked her over.

"Thanks, see, I knew there was a reason I liked you," she said with a grin.

"Uh. . . you look better. . . . I mean good," Steve managed.

She cocked an eyebrow and shook her head, flouncing back to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

"You hesitated man; you never hesitate when complimenting a woman," Sam chided him gently.

"I know," Steve said, glumly.

When she emerged, she began to fill the backpack on the coffee table with a variety of items. She started with her laptop and charger.

"Going somewhere?" Steve asked.

"Like I said, you blew my cover. I need to relocate," she said as she walked into the bathroom and returned with three guns and small box of ammunition she had hidden there. She put them in the backpack, zipping it up.

"You're not going anywhere until we talk. We need information on a Dmitry Pavlov. He lives in Buenos Aires," Steve began.

Alma tensed. "Ugh. I hate that guy. I met him at a few society parties when I was working undercover. He always gets a little handsy when he gets drunk. What do you want with him?"

"His grandfather was Hydra. Our source in Moscow confirmed that he was following in his granddad's footsteps," Steve explained.

"Great. A legacy", she snarked.

"Dmitry will have information about The Winter Soldier," Sam added.

"So, this is all about finding your bestie?" Alma said, staring at Steve.

"How did you know?" Steve asked.

"You guys wrecked half of D.C. It was all over the news."

"I need to know exactly what happened to Bucky. I want to know how to reverse it," Steve said insistently.

"So you're hoping this Dmitry Pavlov will give you the intel you need?" Alma asked.

"Yep."

"Well, like I said before Rogers, you basically ruined my life. There's no way I'm going to help you out," she said, checking the contents of her backpack once more before zipping it up again and having one last look around the apartment for anything she'd missed.

"What if we pay you?" Sam offered.

"You? Pay me? For what?"

"For the information on Bucky. How I can track him down. It's obvious you need the money," Steve said.

She looked at him with narrowed eyes. "How much?"

He smiled, knowing she had taken the bait. "How about ten thousand?"

She let out a short bark of laughter. "You're kidding me, right? You were a level eight agent, right? Your apartment was paid for by S.H.I.E.L.D. You have no wife, no kids, so your living expenses were pretty low. I'm sure you've got plenty socked away. I want fifty thousand for any information."

"I'm the only one that wants it. It's useless to you. Once I walk away, that's it. I'll give you twenty thousand for it," Steve countered.

"Thirty thousand."

"Fine, but for that much, you need to help us out if we need to track down more intel," Steve said and stuck out his hand to shake on the deal.

"Fine," she said, staring at his hand without touching it until he lowered it awkwardly. "Like I said, I've met him a few times at some fundraisers for the ballet company. Of course, my covers are all blown thanks to you. However, the best lies are the ones closest to the truth. I suppose I could go in as an ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, desperate for money, for a job. It wouldn't be that far from the truth."

"We're coming in with you," Steve insisted.

"What, don't you trust me?" she shot back.

"No, I don't. Fury's last words to me were 'trust no one'."

She smirked. "Sounds like him. Fine, Sam can come with me."

"Why him?" Steve asked.

"Because I'm ruggedly handsome," Sam supplied with a huge smile.

"Sam, I can play off as an associate or even a boyfriend . . . you . . .," she wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I've got a feeling that you'd be horrible at undercover. Plus, as good as I am, even I couldn't sell us as a couple."

"Works for me," Sam said with a grin.

"But, don't worry, we'll call you in if we need you to Hulk smash anything," she sniped.

"Alright," Steve said, hating being excluded from the mission, but seeing the wisdom in her words.

There was a rapid, insistent knocking at the door.

Alma sighed as she looked through the peephole on the apartment door and saw a contingent of armed men. "That's them."

"Them?" Sam asked.

"Remember when I warned you that there were men gunning for me and that you guys were going to blow my cover?"

"So, you brought us back here, what, to act as a human shield?" Steve snapped as he stood and tensed.

"I did warn you. And three against ten are a lot better odds than one against ten." She smiled. "Are you ready to have some fun?"

* * *

**Author's Notes**-

1. Ch. 24 of "**The Captain's Bride**" has been posted!

2. Ch. 32 of "**The Price**" - an Agents of Shield story, has been posted!

3. If you use tumblr, you can find me through my link on my profile page or check out my tumblr name - creativereadingfanfiction.


	6. Chapter 6

**Ch. 6**

Alma hefted her overstuffed backpack onto one shoulder and headed towards the outdoor terrace connected to the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" Steve asked as she opened the glass door.

"There are small children that live in the apartments on either side of me. I know firsthand how thin these walls are. They start shooting in here and who knows what could happen? I'm trying to minimize civilian casualties," she explained quickly. "Follow me."

Sam looked to Steve who nodded. He couldn't fault her logic.

Once they were crowded onto the tiny outdoor terrace, she smiled at them. "I chose this apartment for a reason. Easy access to the roof," and with that, she scrambled up onto the iron railing of the terrace and began to climb up to the roof. Since they were already on the top floor, it was only a ten foot climb to reach the roof.

Sam followed her and Steve took up the rear. He could hear the armed men battering down the apartment door in an effort to get in, yelling and cursing in Spanish.

"Now what?" Sam asked once they had all reached the roof.

"Now, we jump," Alma said, pointing to the gravel top roof of the adjacent apartment building. It was one floor shorter than theirs, but there was a wide alley between them.

"That's a good ten, maybe twelve feet at least," Sam observed.

"That's why the superhero goes first. He can catch us. He's got to be useful for something," Alma sniped.

"Fine," Steve ground out through clenched teeth and easily made the jump.

Sam went next, taking a running start and landed without needing Steve's help.

Alma took a deep breath, narrowed her eyes and took a running leap. She could tell mid-leap that she wasn't going to make it, that she was going to fall short of the mark, but Steve ran to the edge, leaned out and plucked her out of the air, saving her.

Bringing her safely to the roof, his strong arms were wrapped tightly around her waist. She hissed in pain.

"Are you alright?" Steve asked softly, concern etched on his face.

"I'll be fine. I cracked a rib a few weeks ago. It's still causing a bit of pain."

"Okay," Steve said, reluctantly letting go of her.

"See," she said, smiling coquettishly up at him, "I knew you'd be good for something."

Just then, the first shot rang out over their heads as the goons had reached the roof of Alma's building.

"Here. Cover me while I pick this lock," Alma said, handing two of the guns in her backpack to Steve and Sam while she began to work on the door on the roof that led to the rest of the apartment building.

"You mean this lock?" Steve said as he ripped the entire door off its hinges.

Alma gave him a genuine smile. "Very useful indeed."

They flew through the door and down the ancient stairwell taking the stairs two at a time. Steve made it to the ground floor level first and covered Sam and Alma when they finally reached the bottom. They started to jog down the main street when they rounded a corner and came face to face with yet another contingent of armed men.

"**Mira a la mina. Cuanto tiempo sin verte**," the head goon said in a soft menacing tone, giving her a cruel grin. He was built like a linebacker with tattoos wrapped around his neck.

"It hasn't been long enough," Alma spat back with a false smile.

"Oh, so your little friends are Americans . . . how sweet. Well, my dear, we have you outgunned and outmanned. Come quietly now and the boss might just have pity on you. You never know. He might have some use for you," he said lewdly as his men chuckled behind him.

"Oh, you might have us outgunned, but you definitely don't have us outmanned," Alma replied tartly.

Taking her cue, Steve took out the two men next to her in one punch. There was a flurry of shots and fighting as the three of them took on the dozen or so armed men. All of a sudden, Sam shouted, "Watch out," as he pushed Alma roughly to the side.

When she recovered, Sam lay on the concrete pavement, bright blood oozing out of his left shoulder. Alma's face hardened and she gripped her gun, spinning around. She shot the last two of the armed men that were standing, before returning to Sam's side.

"Rogers, you've had basic combat medic training, right?" she asked.

"Yes," Steve said, crouching down next to Sam.

"Okay, apply pressure to the wound to slow down the bleeding while I call for an ambulance," she said.

"And the rest of those guys?" Steve said, waving towards the groaning men on the ground as he took off his hoodie and pressed it against his friend's shoulder.

"I've still got a few friends on the local police force. I'm sure these guys will all have long rap sheets. It'll be like Christmas for the guys on the squad," Alma said as she made the first call for an ambulance.

"Hold on, Sam," Steve said urgently to his friend.

"All that time in the Air Force, I never got shot once. I start hanging around you and look what happens," Sam said shakily.

"You're going to be okay, Sam," Steve said firmly. "Flying again in no time."

"You really shouldn't make promises you can't keep," Sam said softly as his eyes fluttered and closed.

* * *

**Author's Notes**-

1. Thank you once again for the kind reviews. They are really encouraging!

2. Rough Spanish translation -

Look at the girl. Long time, no see.

3. Ch. 25 of **"The Captain's Bride"** is up!

4. Ch. 33 and 34 of **"The Price"** are up!


	7. Chapter 7

**Ch. 7**

The next few hours were a blur of activity. Steve took the ambulance with Sam to the hospital while Alma stayed behind with the swarms of local police to make sure that all of their attackers were processed properly. Steve didn't want to have Alma out of his sight, still not fully trusting her, but the police were insistent that at least one of them stay behind to help process all of the wounded and beaten thugs. Alma grabbed his phone, programmed her number in it and told him to call her in a few hours when she should be done with the numerous police interrogations.

Once Sam had been stabilized, Steve called and left a message on her phone. He idly wondered if she would even bother calling back. Perhaps she was in the wind. She had been right. Having him and Sam follow her had blown her cover and put her danger. For all he knew, she was half-way to any number of exotic destinations.

Steve winced when he thought about Sam. From the beginning, he had proven to be a selfless friend, taking him and Natasha in when Hydra was after them, helping to bring down the hellcarriers, coming on this mission to find Bucky. And how had Steve paid him back? Letting him get shot.

Steve replayed the gunfight again and again in his head, berating himself for not covering Sam better. He had spent so much time fighting with his shield as a defensive weapon, it had been hard to adapt to leaving it behind. When they were trailing Alma, Steve hadn't thought he'd need it, and so it was safe, back at their hotel, completely useless to him.

He spent the next hour pacing the wide halls of the hospital. Whenever he sat down to try to figure out his next move, the images of Sam bleeding on the dirty concrete or Bucky falling to his certain death in the snow would replay themselves in his head. People had put their trust in him and he had failed him.

His mind went back to Bucky and he shuddered to think at what his friend had been through. Steve held out hope that there was still a shred of his old friend in there. His memory was hazy, but he was sure it was Bucky that had fished him out of the Potomac, had saved his life. If that was true, it meant that there was still a chance to bring him back.

00000

Steve was surprised when he went back to the main waiting room and saw Alma curled up on one of the large chairs, fast asleep. She looked strangely younger when she slept; her hard edges softened. She seemed more delicate, more carefree, the weight of her life and her work lifted in sleep. He almost hated to wake her up, to see the anger and mistrust once again burn in her eyes.

"Hey," he said softly, not wanting to startle her.

She awoke and stretched, a look of concern on her face. "How's he doing?" she asked hesitantly.

"Good. Out of surgery. They got the bullet out. With a little physical therapy, he'll be as good as new. He was lucky." Steve tried to give her a reassuring smile, but he knew that it looked forced.

"I am truly sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen. I really didn't want anyone to get hurt," she insisted, guilt dripping from every word.

Steve shrugged, sitting down next to her in the padded chair. He had wanted to lay into her, still angry about the ambush, but seeing the wretched look on her face, he resisted, deciding to change the subject instead. "Who were those men?"

"They were Moreno's guys. Arturo Moreno. I spent a year undercover in a big sting investigation against him. He was selling a drug that mimicked the effects of your super-serum, to an extent."

"To an extent?" he asked.

"They would make someone feel like they were as strong as you are, but they weren't. Weightlifters, runners, long jumpers, everyone loved the feeling. Feeling strong, feeling powerful. The problem was, it wasn't real. People pushed themselves too far, tore their own tendons away from the bone, split their own skin trying to do things their bodies just couldn't handle. But, it was addictive. No one wants to feel weak. Everyone wants to be Captain America," she said ruefully.

Steve winced. He knew just how addictive it was. For years after getting the serum, he had nightmares where somehow the process would reverse itself and he'd wind up a sickly, shrunken weakling again. The years of pain and sickness he endured as a child and teenager were never far from his thoughts. He could understand, better than anyone, the lengths that someone would go through not to feel that way again.

"What happened?," he asked.

"After all those months of investigation, we eventually got him. We went through the court system, convicted him, and sent him away for years."

"Then, why is he out?" Steve demanded, his anger flaring.

She shook her head and gave him a disgusted look. "You, Rogers. All past S.H.I.E.L.D. convictions are suspect now. Thousands of criminals are pleading their cases all around the world, saying that is was really Hydra railroading them, manufacturing evidence against them. Everyone I've ever put away will be let loose on the world. Ten years of work thrown away. Ten years of my life wasted."

"Oh," Steve said softly.

"So, you see why I wasn't your biggest fan when I met you," Alma said quietly.

"And now?" Steve asked hopefully.

"You're growing on me," Alma said lightly. "You did save my life a couple of times. However, I have to point out, I wouldn't have been in danger if not for you."

Steve smiled, at least she was warming up to him somewhat.

"So, are you still up for getting the information from Pavlov?" she asked briskly.

"Yes," Steve said firmly.


	8. Chapter 8

**Ch. 8**

Alma smiled at Rogers' determination. He wasn't going to let anything detour him from finding out the information that he wanted, that he needed.

"Okay, well, we'd better go somewhere a bit more private. I'll need time and a good wifi connection to gather some intel so we can formulate our strategy. My place is out. Moreno will have put eyes on it. Where were you and Sam staying?"

"A hotel downtown," Steve answered.

"Well, Sam won't be needing his room for a while."

Steve grimaced. "I don't feel right leaving Sam. If those guys ever come back . . ." Steve trailed off.

"I can see that. Um . . . let me think. . . . I know some guys on the local police force. Some of them moonlight as private security after hours. I could put in a few calls, see who's available. That way, he's covered and we can focus on getting a plan together."

Steve sat there a moment, torn. He hated the idea of leaving Sam, alone and vulnerable in the hospital, even for a moment, but even he couldn't provide round the clock protection. He needed to sleep sometime. And he reasoned, if they didn't make any headway with Pavlov, the entire trip would be for nothing.

"Make the call," he decided.

00000

An hour later, the first off-duty police officer arrived at the hospital He greeted Alma warmly, kissing her on the cheek. Steve was surprised by the sudden flash of jealously that shot through him when he witnessed the familiar gesture. He knew that it was just a traditional greeting, that it most likely meant nothing beyond casual friendship, but he still felt oddly uncomfortable by it.

"Steve, this is Marco Aguilar. He'll take the first eight hour shift."

Steve stuck out his hand. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

The older man gave him a warm smile as he shook Steve's hand. "It's my pleasure. We just had another baby, so the extra pay is a godsend."

"Well, it means a lot to me."

"Ready to go to the hotel?" Alma asked.

Steve nodded. He couldn't wait to get started.

00000

"Adjoining rooms?" Alma asked with a raised eyebrow as she entered Sam's hotel room and saw the set of doors leading directly to Steve's room.

Steve shrugged his shoulders. "Seemed convenient. The last thing we'd want is to be stuck on different floors."

She put her large backpack on Sam's bed. The maid had already been in and the only evidence that the room had a previous occupant was the duffel bag in the corner.

She took out her laptop and powered it up. She sat down at the lone table and chair in the room. "It'll take me a while to plan a good infiltration strategy to get me into Pavlov's inner circle."

"Get us in," Steve said firmly.

"Us? Don't you trust me?" Alma said lightly.

"It isn't a matter of trust," Steve explained. "After what happened with Sam . . . " he began.

"I already said I was sorry," Alma said in a wounded tone.

"No . . . that's not what I mean. This is my fight, my mission. I'm not going to sit back and let you put yourself in harm's way on my account. I'm going in with you." He wasn't going to let her put herself at risk while he did nothing.

"Look, Rogers, I know you want to help, but I've trained for over ten years for this kind of thing. Undercover ops are my specialty. If you show up, you could blow the whole mission," she explained.

"There's no way I'm sending you in there alone. I'm paying you, right? Those are the conditions."

"Ugghh," she growled in frustration. "Fine, fine. Give me a couple of hours to try and track down a feasible strategy for us."

"Thanks," Steve said simply as he turned to leave through the adjoining doors.

"Don't thank me. We'll probably end up dead because your stubbornness," she called after him.

"Don't be so pessimistic. I have faith in your skills," Steve said earnestly as he stuck his head back through the doors and gave Alma a winning smile.

"Thanks?" Alma said reluctantly and turned to back to her computer to begin formulating their plan.

00000

A few hours later, Steve knocked on their adjoining doors.

"Come in," Alma said, still bent over the computer. She had reapplied her make-up and neatly rebraided her hair, so that it seemed that the earlier firefight hadn't fazed her at all.

"I was going to grab some dinner. You hungry?" he asked politely.

"Famished," Alma said. "Let me grab my coat."

"So, you're the expert. Where's a good place to eat around here?"

"Do you like steak?" Alma asked as she got her purse and they left the room

"Sure do," he grinned. They walked toward the elevator and Steve hit the down button. When the elevator arrived, he gestured for her to enter first.

"Such a gentleman," Alma remarked. "Let's see, Buenos Aires has some of the best steakhouses in the world."

"Great. Maybe you can fill me in on what you've come up and we can go over some scenarios for the mission," Steve suggested.

"Wait. This is about business? This . . . this isn't a date?" Alma stammered in a stricken tone, her lip trembling as she faced him in the tiny elevator car.

"No . . . I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to . . ." Steve started, scrambling for words, panicking that he had hurt her feelings. "I mean you're very, very pretty. Any guy would be lucky to . . . "

Alma stared at him for a good ten seconds while he squirmed before doubling over in laughter. "Oh, Rogers, you are so easy to play."

"Ha ha," Steve said dryly. "Make fun of the senior citizen."

"I just couldn't resist. You're still paying for dinner though."

"Somehow I knew you'd say that."

00000

"So how'd you get mixed up with S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Steve asked once they had gotten seated at a nice casual steak restaurant that Alma had suggested. She had ordered for them both and he was dying to try some authentic Argentinean beef.

"Man, Rogers, it's not like I joined the Mafia or something. I mean, you leaked all my records. It's all there on the internet," she sighed.

"I want you to tell me," he insisted.

"I got in with a bad crowd in high school, running scams. Fake IDs, credit cards, a couple of B&Es, petty stuff like that. Anyhow, I got caught. I had a choice. Jail or go through an advanced training program. At first, I thought it was for the Army, but the stuff they taught me, well, it didn't seem to be a part of normal basic training. That's when I found out I had gotten recruited by S.H.I.E.L.D. After the initial training program, they sent me to the operatives division of the Academy."

Steve nodded. He had heard a lot about the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy.

"So, if you did credit card scams as a teenager, why are you so hard up for money now?" he asked.

"Look, for all S.H.I.E.L.D.'s faults, it did teach me to live with a sense of honor; that there are no victimless crimes. As much as I hated doing that P.I. job, at least it was honest work. I'm not going back to the way I was before. You don't understand. It's a slippery slope. You start off small, because you really need the money, but before long, you can't stop yourself."

Steve spent a moment, contemplating her words, surprised that she lived so strictly by a code. He had somehow assumed she'd be like some of the other S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives he'd met, ruthlessly pragmatic. "So, how did you meet Natasha? She's the one that recommended you."

"Agent Romanoff? We did a couple of missions together; one in Peru and one in Chile. To be honest, I'm flattered that she even remembered my name. She ran circles around me. I could barely keep up," she said with a smile.

Steve cocked an eyebrow at the false modesty. From what Natasha had said, Alma could more than hold her own.

"So what is this all about?" Alma asked abruptly.

"What is what all about?" Steve asked.

"Finding out about your BFF?"

"Huh?'

"Your friend?" Alma asked.

Steve took a deep breath. "Bucky was," he shook his head and corrected himself, "is my best friend. We grew up together. He was always there for me. When I was too weak and frail to defend myself, he was right there, by my side. I thought he had died during a mission back in the 40s. But he didn't. Hydra . . . they did something to him. It allowed him to survive. It seems . . . that they've been using him as an assassin for the past seven decades. He hasn't aged. I don't know how. And . . . he doesn't know who he is."

"What do you hope to accomplish with all this?" she asked.

"During the last time we fought, I . . . drowned. I believe he saved me. Despite everything, there is still some part of Bucky in there. And I have to do whatever I can to bring him back."

Alma gave him a small smile. "That type of loyalty is to be admired."

"He'd do the same for me."

"And you think that Pavlov might have some way to reverse the process? Bring back his memories?" she asked.

"He's our best lead so far."

"And you're still determined to go on this mission with me?'

"Yes."

She sighed once again. "Alright, well, we're in luck. Tomorrow evening, he's hosting an art auction at his estate on the outskirts of town. Open invitation. Not too fancy, suit and tie should be enough. We can make contact there. Let me do the talking. Like I said before, I'll go in as an ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. employee. You putting everything on the web will actually be to our advantage. I had pretty good evaluations, so he can check up on me. You can pose as an associate, extra muscle for a job. We'll say that we're looking for work, that we're a matched set."

"Muscle?"

"Well, Rogers, you are massive and you're an amazing fighter. Now, Pavlov might want to see you in action, but you should make sure to pull your punches," she instructed.

"Don't want to stand out too much," he observed. He was impressed that she had thought of that.

"Exactly. Right now, your sad little beard is the only thing obscuring one of the most famous faces in the world. We'll need to dye your hair a bit darker. And when we go clothes shopping tomorrow, we should get you some glasses, too."

"So, go the full Clark Kent," Steve said.

She grinned at the pop culture reference. "Well, it worked for Superman."

* * *

**Author's Note**- Have any of you seen photos of Chris Evans with dark hair, a beard, and glasses? He looks like a totally different person. It's an amazing transformation.

**B&E**- Breaking and Entering- Illegally entering a location


	9. Chapter 9

**Ch. 9**

Steve woke up the next morning to a soft knocking on the adjoining door of his room. He looked up at the alarm clock on the small night stand next to his bed. It was a quarter till eight in the morning. He groaned when he saw the time.

They had been out late the night before, not even arriving at the restaurant until nearly ten at night. After already spending a week in Buenos Aires, he should have been used to the tradition of having late dinners, but truth be told, he was usually starving by six p.m. When their food had finally arrived, he had devoured the steak that Alma had suggested. He had to hand it to her; the food had been superb.

He got out of bed and padded over to the door in bare feet, opening it before Alma could knock again. She was still wearing the clothes from the night before, her hair back in a high ponytail. In her hand was a paper cup of coffee and a brown paper bag.

"Good morning. Since you paid for dinner last night, I thought I'd cover breakfast."

"Come in," he mumbled as he took the coffee and the bag from her and walked over to the table. He sat at the lone chair at the table while she sat at the edge of his bed. "Thanks for breakfast. What are these, croissants?" he asked as he peered in the bag.

"They're called medialunas. They're a bit sweeter than a croissants. They're heavenly."

Steve wasn't that hungry given their late dinner, but he couldn't help but grin as he sank his teeth into the first pastry. Before he knew it, he had finished it. He looked in the bag and saw that there were two more.

"I'm sorry. Do you want one?" he asked, feeling chagrined that he hadn't asked before.

Alma gave him a quick smile. "I already ate three of them. And had two coffees."

They sat in silence for a moment as Steve drank his coffee and ate his breakfast.

"So," Alma finally began. "I called I guy I know. Best forger in Buenos Aires. If we're going to have you go in undercover, we'll have to dummy up a good background. If we had S.H.I.E.L.D. resources, it'd take fifteen minutes. As it is, we'll need the better part of a day."

Steve nodded before taking a sip of his coffee. He'd never gone on an undercover assignment before. His main responsibilities had been leading raids and rescue attempts for S.H.I.E.L.D. However, he'd worked with Natasha for over a year and he was familiar with some of the basics.

"So how many shirts do you have with you? And sweaters?" Alma asked.

"Um . . . . I don't know. I think . . . four shirts, this sweatshirt and a sweater," he said vaguely.

"Alright, well, we'll need take several photos and you'll need to look different in each of them. I'm going to go buy some dark brown hair dye, some clippers and a pair of glasses while you finish up breakfast and get dressed," she said, waving at Steve in the sweats he had slept in.

"Sounds good," Steve said.

"Then, we've got a ten-thirty meeting with the forger and after that we'll need some clothes for tonight," Alma said briskly, rising from the bed.

"Looks like you got this all under control," Steve said as he took another bite out of his medialuna.

"I sure hope so," Alma said with a shrug as she walked out the door.

00000

Alma returned about forty-five minutes later with the supplies. Steve had taken a shower and changed into jeans and a navy T-shirt while she was gone.

"First, we should dye your hair and beard. We should probably get your eyebrows, too. Then, we'll start taking some photos for the fake i.d.," Alma explained.

"And the clippers?" Steve asked suspiciously.

"As we go along, I'm going to cut your hair progressive shorter, your beard, too. Just to give you a new look for the photos. It'd look a bit odd to have your hair the same length in all the photos."

"Exactly how short?"

Alma shrugged. "We'll probably end up with a buzzcut. It'll be a completely different look for you."

"Alright," Steve said hesitantly, not looking forward to it.

"Are you telling me that Captain America is vain? Don't worry, Rogers, I'm sure you'll still look gorgeous," Alma said dryly.

00000

Steve had never colored his hair before, so Alma helped him out. It felt strangely intimate to have her massage his scalp with the dye, delicately apply it to his eyebrows and caress his chin to cover his burgeoning beard with the thick liquid. He tried to focus on the mission, mentally rehearse their plan, but the bathroom felt too small for the both of them and he was distracted by her nearness.

For some reason, he flashed back to the kiss he had shared with Natasha. She had asked him later if it had been his first kiss since the 40s and he'd said no, which was the truth. However, there had only been one other kiss.

Steve had been visiting Stark Tower during the rebuliding process. When he left, he saw a fan dressed in an impressive Captain America costume waiting near the entrance*. When he had complimented her outfit, her eyes flew wide when she recognized him and she begged to take a photo with him. He said yes, overwhelmed by her timid sweetness. After the photo, she had shyly asked for a kiss. He had been rather flattered and quite willing to oblige her.

Steve had been more than a little disappointed that his lovely neighbor had turned out to be an undercover S.H.I.E.L.D. agent sent to spy on him. Despite Natasha's best attempts, he hadn't really invested any time trying to develop a social life. But now, with Alma mere inches from him, he was acutely aware of how isolated he'd been, how he had cut himself off from human contact.

00000

Once all of the dye had been applied, they waited for the timer on Alma's phone to go off. Steve wore a towel around his shoulders as he sat idly on the bed, feeling a bit ridiculous.

"So . . . . have you had to do this a lot for undercover work?" he asked.

"I've had to dye my hair from time to time, but I generally prefer wigs. If had to color my hair for every assignment, it'd end up looking like straw after a while."

Steve nodded.

"Um . . . I'll be back in a few minutes, just knock on the door when it buzzes," Alma instructed before heading to her room.

00000

Alma closed the door behind her, taking a shaky breath. She leaned against the door, her emotions warring inside her. Part of her still hated Rogers vehemently for what he did, for the all wreckage and devastation that he had caused, the destruction of S.H.I.E.L.D., the only home she had ever really known. Part of her hated the fact that she was helping him, that she let herself get swayed by desperation and greed to work on his behalf.

But, worst of all, a part of her was realizing that he wasn't the callous monster she had thought him to be. And that hurt the most. The fact that he was a decent human being. That he was good, noble even. That he cared for his friends. That he honestly thought he was doing the right thing when he had leaked all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s information.

It had been a lot easier just to hate him.

* * *

**Author's Note**- *For those of you who watched Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., there is a great line of dialogue in the pilot episode about cosplayers hanging out in front of Stark Tower. By the way, for those of you who cosplay, you rock! I've seen some amazing costumes in my time and the dedication that you have to create those outfits is stunning!


	10. Chapter 10

**Ch. 10**

After a flurry of outfit changes, haircuts, and photos, Steve stared at himself in the mirror, not recognizing himself. His hair was a dark brown, buzzed down to no more than a half inch. Alma had trimmed his beard as well. She had gotten him a pair of dark-rimmed eyeglasses and he was surprised at the transformation. He had been kidding when he had referenced Clark Kent the night before, not really believing that such minor changes would actually be very helpful in changing how he appeared.

"See, your own mother wouldn't recognize you," Alma said triumphantly as she came up behind him.

Steve swallowed. Alma was right, but the glasses had little to do with it.

"Oh," Alma said, wincing, a look of concern flitting across her face. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking."

"Not to worry. You're right. No one will know who I am," Steve said with a reassuring grin. "What now?"

"We should head out to meet my contact," she said, walking back to her room to grab her purse.

"Alright," Steve agreed, taking one last look at himself in the mirror, shaking his head at the transformation.

00000

They walked into a small shop that advertised laptop repairs. Steve saw a short, skinny young man who forcibly reminded him of how he looked before he took the serum. The man smiled up at them from behind a long desk full of laptops and strewn with computer parts.

"**Hola**, Alma," he said enthusiastically and stood up.

"**Hola**, Pablo," she said as she approached him and greeted him with a small peck on the cheek.

Once again, Steve's eyes narrowed at the gesture, but he tried to mask his irrationally jealous reaction.

Alma turned to Steve. "I'd like you to meet Pablo. Pablo, this is my friend that we talked about. Perhaps we could talk in the back room?" she suggested delicately.

Pablo nodded, going to the front door and turning the sign to **cerrado**. "Follow me," he said, leading the way to a small back room equipped with a laptop connected to a large monitor.

"Pablo's the best forger in all of Buenos Aires," Alma reassured Steve.

"Always with the compliments. Be careful, Alma. You don't want to add me to your long list of admirers," Pablo teased as he sat down in front of the computer.

"Now who's being flattering?" Alma responded with a chuckle.

"Did you bring me the photos I asked for?" Pablo inquired.

"Yep, they're on this phone," Alma said, handing it over to Pablo.

In a few moments, Pablo had them downloaded to his computer. "Alright, so what's the story we're trying to tell?"

"We want him to be hired as muscle for a less than reputable individual. I was thinking of a couple of arrests in the U.S. for felony assault, an attempted murder or two, maybe a short stint in prison? Perhaps a gambling addiction, too. Throw in some money problems on top of it," Alma instructed.

"I should be able to swing it," Pablo said.

"And, we'll need a U.S. passport, a New York driver's license, a few bank accounts, but not too much money in them and two or three credit cards, maxed to the limit," Alma added.

"And you want this all by seven p.m. tonight?" Pablo asked dubiously.

"C'mon. You know you love a good challenge," Alma replied.

"You're lucky I'm so good at what I do," Pablo said.

"Thanks. We really appreciate it," Steve said earnestly.

Pablo gave him a brief smile. "Anything for Alma. Especially after what happened . . ."

"Let's not talk about it," Alma said, cutting him off. "We'll be back at seven to pick up the packet."

"Will do," Pablo said, turning back to his computer to start on his work.

00000

"What did Pablo mean, after what happened?" Steve asked as they left the store.

Alma turned to Steve. "I used to help him out a lot, before, when I was working for S.H.I.E.L.D. Throw work his way whenever I could. He knows that I'm out of a job, that's all. He just feels bad for me," Alma said briskly as she began to walk towards the metro station.

Steve could feel that there was more to the story, but he didn't want to press her. "So, where to next?"

"Shopping. I've been wearing the same clothes for twenty-four hours, so as my employer, you owe me some new threads. Also, we'll need to get some clothes for tonight; make sure that you stay in character."

"In character?" Steve asked.

"Well, don't take this the wrong way, but you kind of seem like an overgrown, amazingly sweet Boy Scout. Not the type of guy most people are going to hire as a hardened thug."

"You think I'm amazingly sweet?" Steve needled.

Alma stopped and looked up at him, rolling her eyes. "Really? Yes, you're adorable. I'm sure you hear it all the time."

"I really don't," Steve said, staring at her intently.

Alma held his gaze for a moment, then blushed slightly and looked away, resuming her walk towards the metro stop. "Okay, anyhow, we need to get you some different clothes. Some kind of horrid, wannabe mobster outfit."

00000

As Steve once again stood in front of a mirror, he had to hand it to Alma. She had chosen a slightly shiny, dark red long sleeved button down shirt paired with a black suit jacket and pants along with a black tie. He never had such a strong, almost visceral reaction of distaste for an outfit before in his life and that included the ridiculous Captain America suit he had to wear when selling war bonds.

He walked out of the changing room to show Alma.

"I would never wear something like this. Not in a million years," Steve said in disgust as he turned around so she could see it from all angles.

Alma smiled. "That's why it's such a great look for you. Along with the new hair and glasses, you look like a totally different person."

"What kind of person?"

"Well, not someone you'd bring home to meet the folks. More like someone you'd sneak out of your bedroom window to go meet."

"You sound like you know from experience," he smiled.

"Like I said, I ran with a dicey crowd in high school. I had a thing for bad boys," she admitted.

"Is that what I look like? A bad boy?" he asked, taking a step closer to her, staring down at her.

"Good thing my eighteen year old self isn't here," she said glibly. " She would have already run off with you. Now, it's time for me to get some clothes."

Steve nodded as he followed her to the women's section of the department store. He briefly wondered what it would take for the twenty-eight year old version of her to run off with him.

* * *

**Author's Note**- For those of you who like tumblr, my name on there is creativewritingfanfiction. I've posted a great photo of Chris Evans I found with dark, buzzed hair and dark rimmed glasses.

Rough Spanish Translations-

Hello

Hello

Closed


	11. Chapter 11

**Ch.11**

Steve had suffered through some mind-numbing, boring tasks in his time. Going to the DMV to get his motorcycle license came to mind. Wading through seventy years of Army regulations and red tape to nullify his death benefits and reinstate his military pension was another. Sitting for hours with an accountant trying to figure out the best way to deal with seventy years of back taxes and compound interest.

But nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to going clothes shopping. It seemed as though Alma needed to replace her entire wardrobe and he was sure that it was partly out of spite that the process took so long. In the end, he offered to give her a lump sum of money so that he could just wait outside on a bench and not have to look at yet another outfit.

Finally, an hour later, Alma emerged from the store with a big Cheshire Cat grin on her face.

"Would you like the change?" she offered, awkwardly digging through her purse as she shifted all of her bags to the other hand.

He shook his head. "Just take it off what I owe you. What's next?"

"We should probably go back to the hotel room. Get our stories down. I'll go pick up a rental car and your documents at seven and then we'll get ready to go to Pavlov's house. The auction starts at nine."

"That's cutting it pretty close," Steve warned. He felt itchy going on a mission he hadn't planned. He realized now that it was the first time he'd actually done it. He knew that undercover work wasn't his area of expertise, but he hated the idea of giving up control of an operation.

"Well, we wouldn't be cutting it so close if you would have just let me go in alone," she shot back.

Steve tensed. It had been years since he had anyone challenge his authority when it came to leading missions and he didn't realize how frustrating it was.

"We've been over this. I'm going with you. End of discussion," he said, forcing himself to remain calm.

"Fine. Let's go," Alma said curtly as they walked towards the metro stop.

00000

"Okay, so this is your first time going in undercover?" Alma asked once they had gotten back to his hotel room.

"Yep," Steve replied.

"Did you get any S.H.I.E.L.D. training on undercover missions?" she asked hopefully.

"Nope."

She sighed. "Alright, then. It seems to me that the best idea is to let me do all of the talking. We'll paint you as the strong, silent type."

"Fine by me," Steve agreed. He knew he just needed to be there, watching out for Alma, making sure the mission went smoothly, providing backup.

"And we go in merely as associates," Alma said.

"Why?" Steve challenged.

"Pavlov's a lech. We'll use my single status as a carrot. If he thinks I'm involved with you, he might balk at hiring us."

"I don't like using you as bait like that," Steve said emphatically.

Alma scoffed. "It's not like this is my first rodeo. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

He clenched his teeth. "This is my mission. I'm paying you. I'm in charge. And I'm telling you that I don't like it. There's got to be another way."

"And I am putting my life in your hands by going on this mission, by going up against this man. I have nowhere to go, nowhere to hide if this goes south. You want a chance to save your friend? To bring him back? This is it. This is how we play it. Or else you do it on your own," she said tightly, not giving an inch.

There was a long moment where they just stared at each other, the anger and frustration between them permeating the room.

"Fine, fine. We'll try it your way," Steve bit out, unhappy, but not able to see any other way around it.

00000

After picking up a rental car that they would need for the next few days, Alma drove to Pablo's store. She saw his father there when she came in and Pablo immediately motioned for her to follow him into the back office.

"¿**Tu novia**? Pablo's father inquired as Alma passed him, giving his son a wink.

"**Claro**," Pablo lied, giving her a quick peck on the cheek before ushering Alma into the back room.

"**Hola, Pablo**," she began once he had closed the door behind him.

"We should probably stick to English, considering . . . .," Pablo said, gesturing behind him.

Alma nodded. His father had no idea of his extracurricular activities, no clue as to where he got all his extra cash. He merely thought his son was very, very good at fixing computers.

"Fine," she replied. "Do you have the packet?" she asked as she handed Pablo an envelope of money she had gotten from Rogers.

"Yep, it's all there. I created a nasty on-line presence, too. Anyone Googling him will find a few arrest records, as well as a couple of other unsavory tidbits," Pablo said with a grin, counting out the cash.

"Great," Alma said as she opened the manila envelope that Pablo had given her and thumbed through its contents. She reared her head back, though, when she saw a second passport and Social Security card.

As she took the extra U.S. passport out, she was surprised to see her own face smiling back at her with the name, Teresa Garza.

"What's this?" Alma asked.

"An opportunity to get away. Go anywhere you want," Pablo said simply.

Alma was impressed by the passport. It was flawless. She looked it over and her hands began to tremble a bit. An escape.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, mentally calculating how much she could afford. Perhaps Rogers would give her an advance.

"On the house," Pablo said firmly.

"On the house?" Almas asked skeptically, looking over at him with narrowed eyes. Never in her dealings with Pablo had he ever given anything away for free. On the contrary, he had usually driven a fairly hard bargain.

"Free . . . I know what happened. You don't . . . you don't have very many options left. I wanted to make sure that you had an escape route."

Alma looked down at the passport. It meant freedom. It meant being able to go on with her life.

"Thank you," she said firmly, giving Pablo a quick hug and turning to go.

Then another thought wormed itself into her head as walked out the front door of the small shop. She was holding onto her ticket out of there. She could easily leave, go almost anywhere. She had a little money, enough for a plane ticket.

As she stood on the sidewalk, the temptation took hold of her. She could just drop the packet at Roger's hotel and leave. Let him sort out his own mission. Take the rental car straight to the airport. Board the first plane out of the country.

A million scenarios began to play in her head. They were heady, seductive even. A chance to start over, a chance to begin again. Go where no one knew her.

Then, the memory of Sam bleeding on the ground came to her.

Of Rogers catching her when she fell.

Of Rogers fighting the men who had come to take her.

She sighed. She wasn't free. She wouldn't be until she finished what she'd started with Rogers. That needling sense of honor began to hound her, that voice of conscience that she had learned to listen to during her time with S.H.I.E.L.D. Whether she liked it or not, she owed it to Rogers to see the mission through, to help him try to find some information to save his friend.

_But once it's over _. . . she began to smile.

_Once it's over . . _. .

_I'm in the wind._

* * *

**Author's Note-**

Rough Spanish translation-

Your girlfriend?

Of course.

Hello


	12. Chapter 12

**Ch. 12**

The second Alma left to get the rental car, Steve got ready to leave himself. He grabbed Sam's duffel bag that he had stored in his closet and then left to catch the metro to the hospital.

As Steve knocked on the partially open door to Sam's hospital room, the wave of guilt hit him once again. He nodded to the after-hours police officer that Alma had hired and then moved the curtain surrounding Sam's bed.

Sam was sitting up in bed, earbuds on, eyes closed, his head bobbing up and down with a slight smile on his face. After a moment, he realized Steve was there and pulled out the headphones.

"Hey, buddy," Steve said, clasping Sam's hand in a tight grip, glad to see him awake and alert. "I brought your stuff," Steve said, lifting up the duffel bag. "You're looking a lot better."

"Doc said that they can release me in a couple of days. A little rest and a little physical therapy's all I'll need. Could've been a lot worse."

Steve looked down, too ashamed to meet Sam's eyes. "I'm sorry. About not covering you . . . I should have . . ."

"Hey," Sam interrupted. "Don't worry about it. I knew the risks going in. How's the mission going?"

"Good. We're making contact with Pavlov tonight."

"So how are you and Miss Congeniality getting along?" Sam asked with a laugh.

"Good . . .," Steve thought about their most recent argument, "well, better."

"Well, don't forget. I saw her first," Sam said with a wink.

Steve colored. He had forgotten how they had flirted when Sam first met Alma.

"Of course," he mumbled woodenly, looking away.

"Wait . . . I was just kidding. Are you telling me that you like her?"

Steve shrugged. "It would be stupid to fall for someone who can barely stand to be in the same room with you."

"No one ever said love was smart," Sam smiled.

"Ain't that the truth," Steve said, shaking his head. "Ain't that the truth."

00000

On his way back from the hospital, Steve took out his phone. After a few minutes of searching, he found what he was looking for: Alma's S.H.I.E.L.D. records.

She had been right the night before, of course. Her entire personnel record was on-line. Every single detail that S.H.I.E.L.D. knew about her was now out there for anyone to see. Steve had reviewed her records during the week that he and Sam had searched all of Buenos Aires, trying to find a pattern, glean something useful that would help them locate her.

Steve was used to combing through personnel records for S.H.I.E.L.D. He did it before each mission. Knowing the strengths and weaknesses of each member of his team helped him use them more effectively, helped him plan the operation down to the smallest detail.

As he reviewed the last ten years of Alma's records, he was struck by how many missions and assignments she had been a part of. She worked mostly undercover, criss-crossing Central and South America. He grinned as he read about her mission with Natasha, seeing that Natasha had recommended her for a promotion after it had finished.

The only thing, it seemed, that had held Alma back from having an even more successful career with S.H.I.E.L.D. was her relationship with authority. The words "stubborn" and "argumentative" peppered her yearly evaluations and since Steve had been on the receiving end of her sharp tongue more than once, he could see why.

Before he even realized it, the metro shuddered to a stop at the station nearest their hotel. Pocketing his phone, Steve politely made his way off the car, careful to let others go ahead of him, and went up the stairs to the street.

00000

An hour after Steve returned from his errand, Alma knocked on their adjoining door. He opened it, his short hair still damp from a recent shower. He was wearing his suit and tie and Alma sucked in a quick breath. She hoped he didn't catch her reaction to what he was wearing.

"Here's the dossier and documents Pablo dummied up for you. Memorize as much of it as you can, although we'll do the best we can to avoid having you answer any questions."

Steve nodded, taking the thick envelope from her.

"I'm going to get ready. We should try to leave in half an hour," she said, closing the door behind her.

00000

Twenty-five minutes later, he heard yet another knock on their adjoining door. Steve opened it to see Alma there, dressed and ready to leave.

When Steve had first seen the red dress that Alma was planning to wear at the fundraising event that night it had been on a hanger in the store. It had seemed quite modest, almost demure, high-necked, long-sleeved, and so long that it nearly reached her ankles. However, now that she was wearing it in front of him, well, the way she filled out the dress made Steve think of the drawings of pin-up girls that he had seen in his Army barracks during the war. He blushed and looked away to stop himself from staring, earning a low chuckle from Alma.

"See, when you're working as bait, you have to look like . . . well, bait." Alma twirled around, the fabric of the dress swishing against her legs. "So, you think it'll work?"

"Uh . . . yeah," Steve said quickly, trying to hide the effect she was having on him, taking off his fake glasses and polishing them nervously. "We should get going."

00000

Alma drove to Pavlov's estate since she was more accustomed to driving in Buenos Aires. It also gave Steve extra time to review the dossier that Pablo had made for him. His stomach turned a bit as he read all of the supposed crimes he had committed as his alter ego. It was nearly a forty-five minute drive from their hotel to the country estate that Pavlov owned in the outskirts of Buenos Aires and it took Steve that long to fully memorize all of his supposed misdeeds.

As they pulled up to the large, Tudor style mansion, Steve was taken back a bit by the size of it.

"There are eleven bedrooms, twelve bathrooms and a swimming pool out back," Alma said as she parked the car.

"How did . . .," Steve began.

"Researched it before. All public records from the last sale. It's always good to know the layout of a house," Alma said.

Men in black suits ushered them inside to an enormous glittering ballroom set up to display all of the art pieces up for auction. Steve noticed from the bulges in their jackets that every one of them were armed.

"They're private security, not servants," he informed Alma.

She nodded. "I caught that, too. Hopefully, this doesn't go pear-shaped. It'd be nice to work in a swanky place like this for a bit."

Steve gave her a sharp look and she smiled. "Don't worry. I'm not going over to the dark side quite yet. It's just . . . . ten years of blood, sweat, and tears down the drain. I'm back to zero again. All the money in my bank account frozen. My pension has disappeared. My face is out there, so there's no chance for any undercover work anymore. When you found me, I was barely making ends meet on a PI gig. It's just that . . . it'd be nice to not scrape by all the time."

A part of Steve understood. He'd spent his childhood with his mother in a one room apartment on the bad side of town. Although he knew a lot of kids in his neighborhood who had it a lot worse.

As he looked at their opulent surroundings, he could see how someone could get sucked into it. The grand ballroom. The housekeeper and private cook. The yacht in the harbor.

But it was all an illusion. It didn't bring you happiness. He knew men like Pavlov, constantly grasping for more, cutting corners, destroying people just for a bigger piece of the pie. Constantly starving, although a banquet was spread out before them. They'd never know contentment; they'd never be satisfied.

And no amount of money would ever bring them peace.

000000

They spent the next hour, mingling with the other guests, pretending to peruse the pieces up for auction. Steve actually enjoyed looking at the different sculptures and paintings on display. He was surprised to realize just how much he missed drawing and sketching. He spent so much time working for S.H.I.E.L.D. the past few years that he'd hardly had time for art. Surrounded by such beautiful pieces, though, awakened a longing in him and he made a mental note to try to visit the art museum if they had any down time.

Before long, they spotted Pavlov circling the guests like a shark. The predator simile was apt as Steve could see him coldly calculating as he evaluated the prey before him. Steve hated guys like that. He saw Pavlov time and time again approach one female guest after another, standing a bit too close, raking his eyes over them, his hands roaming their shoulders and the small of their backs.

Pavlov was in his early 40s, nearly as tall as Steve with shots of grey flecking the temples of his dark hair. He could have been described as handsome, but nearly every woman in the room shrank from him, instinctually knowing the rottenness hidden behind the attractive façade. Steve clenched his fists and tried to remain calm, to follow Alma's instructions to play the part of a passive henchman. Every bone in his body though, longed to drag Pavlov outside and teach him some manners.

Before long, Pavlov spotted Alma and his eyes widened and his grin grew big as he came towards them.

"Hola," Pavlov said as he approached Alma.

"Hello," Alma said, deliberately answering back in English, wanting Steve to be able to follow their conversation.

"Well, aren't you a pretty little thing?" Pavlov remarked. "Dmitry Pavlov, at your service."

There may be something that Alma detested more than being called a "thing", but it didn't come to mind. She expertly hid any reaction, though. "Alma Iglesias. It's a pleasure to meet you again."

"Your . . . .," Pavlov took a moment to boldly sweep his eyes over Alma, lingering where he shouldn't, "face is familiar, but your name is not," he said as he bent down to give Alma an overly familiar kiss on the cheek.

Steve tensed next to Alma, already disgusted with the man.

"That's because when we last met, I used an alias," Alma said.

Pavlov leaned back a bit and looked at her through narrowed eyes. "FBI? CIA?" he asked tightly.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. or I suppose ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. would be more accurate. You needn't worry; you were never my objective."

"More's the pity," he said as he once again shamelessly assessed her.

"Since the dissolution of my organization, it seems as though I am out of a job and quite desperate," Alma confessed.

"Oh, really?" he asked, his eyes lighting up.

"I was told you might have a . . . position for me," she breathed, her tone suggestive.

"Oh, I'm sure that for a woman of your obvious talents, I could fit you in somewhere," he said, licking his lips in anticipation.

"There is a slight catch," she purred.

"Isn't there always?" he remarked dryly.

"My associate," she pointed to Steve, "comes with me. He's helped me out of a scrape or two and I owe him."

Pavlov regarded Steve with a bored expression. "I've got plenty of hired muscle."

"Oh, but he's good," she said. "Very good. Well worth your while and like I said . . . package deal."

Pavlov spent several seconds looking over the both of them, before making a decision, nodding slightly.

He turned slightly to speak to Alma, his eyes once again travelling her form as though he were memorizing every detail, filing it away.

"So, associates only?" Pavlov asked.

Steve reacted on instinct. He had been struggling to remain calm during the entire meeting, the desire to wipe the lecherous grin off of Pavlov's face so intense that he almost began to shake. Without thinking, Steve stepped forward a bit, draping his arm across Alma's shoulders, and giving Pavlov a condescending smile.

"Oh, I'd say something more than associates." Steve looked down at Alma, giving her a slight squeeze. "Isn't that right, honey?"

* * *

**Author's Note** - Wow, over 30 followers! Thank you so much! I really appreciate the encouragement. The more you let me know that you are enjoying the story, the more time and effort I spend writing it!


	13. Chapter 13

**Ch. 13**

Without missing a beat, Alma slid her arm around Steve's waist. "Like I said, a matched set."

Pavlov curled his lip up with disgust for a moment, then schooled his expression into one of practiced arrogance. "What a shame. Fine. Leave your contact information with my assistant," he nodded towards a balding man to his left, "and I'll look into your . . . resume. Let's see if you can impress me."

"Oh, I know we will," Alma said confidently.

"Enjoy yourselves," Pavlov said, motioning to the room in general before stalking off to find more prey.

00000

For the next hour, Alma played the perfect girlfriend. She laughed at all of Steve's jokes, never stopped smiling at him. She constantly touched him, brushing an eyelash off his cheek, leaning her head against his shoulder, holding his hand as they walked back out to the car at the end of the auction.

It was unnerving for Steve. He felt as though he had somehow slipped into some parallel universe where they had always been together, where they had never been at odds. Part of his mind screamed at him that it was all part of the undercover mission, that it meant nothing. But, another part was aching with the fact that this was the first time he had ever experienced this time of easy closeness, this type of familiar intimacy in a romantic relationship. His time with Peggy was far too short and he spent so much time mourning the loss of that relationship that he hardly allowed himself to think about starting on another one.

He didn't want to leave the auction, although he knew that they should, that every moment there was dangerous and could lead to them being caught. Alma made a few off-handed comments about it being late and he ignored them, wanting just a few more minutes to indulge himself in the fiction of their relationship. He also wasn't looking forward to Alma's reaction to his last minute change to their plans.

Finally, Alma tugged gently on his hand. "I'm sleepy, baby. Let's go back to the hotel."

Reluctantly, Steve nodded and let her lead him back to the car; his dread growing with each step.

As he sat down in the car next to her, he took a deep breath, getting ready to apologize. "Alma, I . . ."

Alma settled her hand on his knee and gave him a coquettish grin. "I can't wait to get you back to the hotel," she breathed, her voice slow and seductive.

Steve stared at her for a moment in confusion. Then, she squeezed his knee a bit harder and as he looked down, he saw that one of her fingers was pointing to something under the dash. He inclined his head a bit and saw what she was pointing to.

A bug.

Pavlov had bugged the car.

And Steve had almost given everything away.

"Me, either, baby," he said huskily, playing along.

Alma gave him a short nod, moving her hand away to start the car.

00000

Alma chatted some during the forty-five minute drive, alluding to their fake relationship, to the fact that she'd do anything to get a job with Pavlov. Steve kept his answers to a minimum, not wanting to cause any more problems. It disturbed him that he hadn't even thought that Pavlov would bug their car, but he just reminded himself that he wasn't an undercover agent, that he'd never been trained for all of this.

Once they got back to Steve's hotel room, Alma went to her adjoining room and got out a small device from her backpack. She waved it over herself and then Steve. She gave him a small smile. "No bugs. The only one must be the one in the car."

"Alma . . . ." Steve began, but she interrupted him.

"What the hell were you thinking, Rogers? We agreed to go in as associates only. Was that some sort of sick power play, trying to show me that you're the boss, you're the one paying the bills? You could have scrubbed the whole mission with that little stunt," she demanded coldly.

"I . . . I just hated the way Pavlov was treating the women at that party. It made me sick . . . and I hated the way he looked at you," Steve admitted.

Steve could see the fury melt away in Alma's eyes, replaced by something he couldn't quite identify. "That's sweet. It really is. But, once again, your best intentions nearly got me killed."

"Look . . . I'm sorry about what happened with Moreno's men, leading them back to your apartment," he apologized.

"That's not . . . just forget it. I'm tired. I'm going to bed," she said and she turned and walked back towards her room, locking her adjoining door behind her.

000000

Steve awoke at nearly three in the morning to the sound of Alma's screams.

"No! Please, stop!" he heard her yell in a strangled shout.

_Pavlov. He's attacking her_, Steve thought as he shot out of his bed and ran to the locked doors that separated their rooms, ripping them off their hinges in his haste.

Moonlight streamed into the room and he saw Alma alone in her bed, thrashing and screaming in agony while asleep.

"No! No! Please, no!"

He went to her, leaning down to restrain her from her frantic motions.

"It's okay, Alma. You're just having a nightmare. It's okay," Steve said in a calming voice.

Her eyes flew open and, for a second, it was clear that she didn't recognize him as she screeched and pulled away from him in stark terror.

"Hey, hey. You're okay. You're safe," he repeated over and over again, sitting awkwardly on the side of the bed.

She began to cry; her body wracked with sobs. She clung to him and he held her, murmuring words of comfort, stroking her long hair. Steve didn't know how long he had held her before there was an angry rap on Alma's hotel door.

Reluctantly, Steve let go of her and walked towards the door. When he looked through the peephole, he saw an older gentleman in a suit who was wearing an obvious toupee along with a younger bellhop who looked liked he'd rather be anywhere else in the world.

"Hello," Steve said curtly as he opened the door, upset at being interrupted. At the older man's widened eyes, Steve realized that he was only wearing an undershirt and boxers.

"I am the night manager of this hotel," the older man said fastidiously. "We've had several reports of a woman screaming in this room." He had a distrustful look on his face as he attempted to peer into the darkened room.

Steve gripped the door handle tightly. The last thing he needed was for them to barge in and see the busted adjoining doors.

"I am so very sorry," Alma said as she sidled up next to Steve, wrapping her arms around his waist lovingly. "I have a tendency to be rather . . . loud. I guess I was a bit too enthusiastic, wasn't I honey?" she asked, looking up and him with a seductive grin.

"Are you alright, miss?" the manager inquired, giving Steve a wary look.

"Oh, I am so much better than alright," Alma breathed, her tone low as she raked her nails lightly across Steve's chest, sending shivers down his spine. Steve saw both men swallow hard as she gave them a coy smile. "I am so sorry that we woke anyone up. I promise that we'll be quiet from now on," she said, pressing against Steve.

"Okay, miss," the manager said, licking his lips. "See that you do." He motioned to the bellhop and they both turned to go.

"Good night," she called after them as Steve shut the door.

The second the door was shut, she let go of him, taking a few steps back. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," she said quietly, almost woodenly.

Steve was shocked at the difference. In an instant, she had gone from a sex kitten back to Alma, standing there barefoot in ordinary flannel pajamas and looking vulnerable and lost.

"How do you do it? Turn it on and off like that. Go all Marilyn Monroe and then . . .?" Steve asked.

She gave him a wan smile. "Seduction training 101. Men respond well to a low, breathy voice. Good job on the Marilyn Monroe reference. I thought she was after your time."

"Natasha suggested I watch a couple of her movies. I could definitely see the appeal." He took a deep breath before changing the subject. "What was that all about?"

"Nightmare."

"Seemed pretty intense," Steve observed.

"They usually are," Alma said with a shudder.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Alma looked up at him for a moment, indecision flickering over her face. After a few seconds, though, she shook her head. "No, I don't."

Steve wanted to press the point, but in the end, he just sighed. "Fine. I'm here if you ever want to talk. I know . . . I know what it's like to go through some pretty rough stuff."

"Thanks. I appreciate it," Alma said quietly.

Steve turned to go back to his room, but Alma caught his hand, giving it the briefest of squeezes before letting go. "I mean it. I really appreciate it, Steve."

Steve nodded and left through the busted doors, awkwardly trying to set them back somewhat in their original positions. It wasn't until he was lying down once again in his own bed that he realized it was the first time she had called him Steve.


	14. Chapter 14

**Ch. 14**

Steve woke up the next day to sunlight streaming into his room. He had overslept, but that was hardly a surprise. He had tossed and turned for hours the night before after being woken by Alma. He had had similar nightmares during the war. The things he had seen in the Hydra facilities were grotesque and unsettling. Finding Bucky weak and tortured was still a recurring part of his troubled dreams.

And, if he were honest with himself, it wasn't just Alma's nightmare that kept him up. He had known her less than forty-eight hours and he felt like his world had been turned upside down. She had forced him to confront some disturbing ramifications of his efforts to dismantle S.H.I.E.L.D. He knew the organization was riddled with Hydra sleeper agents and the only way to get rid of them was to bring the whole agency down, but seeing how broken Alma had been when he had first met him and hearing about all the good S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who had been hurt by his information dump gave him pause.

And then there was Alma herself. There were moments when he felt so close to her and then others when he wondered why he'd ever hired her. Two days ago, she had threatened to kill him and last night he had held her in his arms while she had sobbed. Unwillingly, his mind flashed to her appreciative gaze while he wore the suit, her hand tucked into his, her nails raking across his chest. He tried to tell himself that she was an undercover operative, that it was all a lie, but it felt real. And, the worst of it was, a part of him wanted it to be real.

He squinted at the alarm clock next to the bed. It was half past nine in the morning. He idly wondered if she was going to buy him medialunas again. His mouth watered at the thought of it.

He got up and padded to the busted adjoining doors. They looked a lot worse in the morning and he wondered how much he was going to have to pay the hotel to have them fixed.

He knocked gently on the door, trying to respect Alma's privacy, but there was no answer. He peeked in and he could see that she wasn't there. She had made her bed and had taken her purse, so he guessed that she had gone to breakfast. He decided to take a shower and get ready himself.

After his shower, it was already ten and Steve began to worry somewhat. He turned on his phone and relaxed when he saw a text from Alma.

_-Be back before lunch._

He tried calling her, but her phone went straight to voicemail, which concerned him. He decided to text her.

**_- Where are you?_**

After waiting a few minutes for a reply, Steve sighed. Alma must have shut off her phone. They hadn't talked about what they were going to do that day. They had to be flexible and wait to hear back from Pavlov.

Steve felt bile rise up in him when he thought of that man. His disgust for him intensified when he remembered Pavlov's eyes raking over Alma in lascivious interest.

Steve decided to distract himself. Recalling how much he enjoyed the art from the night before, he decided to check out the hours for the Buenos Aires Museum of Modern Art. In less than a minute, he was able to find their main web page on his phone. He smiled when he saw that it opened at eleven. There was enough time to grab a quick breakfast and take the metro there.

He realized suddenly that he didn't want to go without Alma. One of the things he enjoyed so much about last night was pointing things out to her about paintings and sculptures. They'd talk about the use of color in a portrait or the lines of a particular statue. Alma was by no means an art expert, but she was appreciative of Steve's efforts to explain the different influences evident in an artist's work or possible meanings for each piece. The idea of going to the art museum without he seemed unappealing.

00000

Instead, he settled on visiting Sam. He arrived at his hospital room at ten thirty, having stopped at a café for a quick breakfast of coffee and medialunas. He bought an entire bag full of them and handed them to Sam once he entered the room.

Sam smiled when he saw the bag full of goodies, shaking Steve's hand and introducing him to his current bodyguard, Ramiro. They had been playing a game of cards and from the small coins piled on Sam's side of the table, it looked like he was winning.

"How are you doing today?" Steve asked as he settled into a chair next to Sam.

"Good. Finally got a full night of sleep. They brought the physical therapist by to go over some simple exercises with me. I've been able to get up and walk around some. They told me that I'll be out in two, three days max."

"That's great."

"How did things go last night?" Sam asked.

"Um . . . Ramiro, would you mind waiting outside?" Steve asked.

Ramiro shrugged his shoulders. "You're the one paying."

Once he was outside, Steve looked over to Sam. "So, we made contact . . . "

"And . . .," Sam prompted.

"I nearly blew it. Pavlov is a pig. You should have seen him, the way he treated the women at the auction. The way he came on to Alma . . ." Steve said.

"Wasn't that the plan? Use her as bait?" Sam asked.

"Yes, but I couldn't go through with it. I . . . . made it seem like we were a couple."

Sam burst out laughing. "Man, you got it bad."

"I know it's stupid. I don't even know what I was thinking."

Sam sobered for a moment. "Alright, man. I'm going to ask you a tough question."

"Okay," Steve asked hesitantly.

"Are you interested in Alma because you really like her or just because she's . . . there?"

Steve winced. Sam knew about his limited experience with women. "To be honest, I'm not sure. I mean, I didn't feel this way about Natasha. She's beautiful and we worked together for months."

"But, you always knew she was in a relationship, right?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. I knew she was with Clint. I guess . . . . I guess I just don't know."

"Well, before you do anything about it, you should make sure. You owe it to her and you definitely owe it to yourself."

Steve gave a brief smile. "We're waiting on a text from Pavlov. Despite everything, there's still a chance that he might hire us," he said, purposefully changing the subject.

"Wish I could be out there with you, buddy," Sam said.

"You just focus on getting better. How much have you won from Ramiro?"

Sam grinned. "I'm up fifteen bucks. He's lousy at poker. Send him back in. Let's see if I can win enough to pay for this hospital stay."

Steve chuckled. "Will do."

00000

After visiting Sam, Steve returned to the hotel for lack of anything better to do. He kept endlessly checking his phone for a text or call from Alma, but there was none.

It was past noon when Steve finally heard Alma coming in her room.

"Where were you?" Steve asked as he walked through their adjoining doors, although it came out a bit more demanding than he'd intended.

"It's Sunday morning. I was at church, ya heathen," she gently teased. She was dressed in oversized long red sweater and an ankle-length red and black skirt.

"Oh. . . . I didn't think . . . I would have gone with you," he offered.

"You seemed pretty tired when I peeked my head in. I didn't want to bother you." She flashed him a quick smile. "Anyhow, introducing you to my pastor is sort of a third date kind of thing for me. And, if I brought a handsome guy like you to church, the little old ladies would stop trying to set me up with their rich nephews," she grinned.

"You don't strike me as the . . . . ," Steve swallowed the rest of his sentence, not wanting to seem rude.

"Church-going type? Well, you know what they say, it's the sick that need a doctor, not the well. I mess up more than I get things right, but that doesn't mean I stop trying."

Steve nodded.

"So, what did you do?" she asked.

"I got up late, had breakfast, visited Sam."

"How's he doing?" she asked.

"Good. Actually really good. He should be released on Tuesday or Wednesday."

"That's great." She gave him a genuine smile.

"Did you hear from Pavlov?"

Alma grimaced. "Yes. He texted me. He wants a meet. Tomorrow night, ten o'clock. On his yacht."

"Good." At least some things were looking up.

"Not so good. My spidey senses are tingling on this one. I don't like meeting on his yacht. The ocean is a great place to dump a body."

"How do you know that?"

"I'll plead the fifth on that one," Alma said with a grim smile.

"So what do we do?" Steve asked.

"It's up to you. We only have a few options. We can refuse to meet with him. Or we can try to relocate the meet . . . . ."

"But . . . ," Steve prompted.

"In both cases, my instincts tell me that Pavlov will just bail on us. If you want to stay with the undercover op, our only really chance is to have the meet where and when he wants it."

Steve thought for a moment, going back and forth on it before making his decision. "Let's go ahead with it. We've put too much time and effort into it to abort the mission now."

"Alright. I'll contact him and tell him we'll be there. We should prepare for the worst, though."

"I always do," Steve asserted.

"So . . . . have you had lunch yet?" Alma asked.

"No . . . ."

"I was thinking of checking out the street market in San Telmo, maybe getting something to eat there."

"The modern art museum is open today. I was planning visiting it," Steve said.

"We could do both. The market and then the museum. It's only a short walk between them." Suddenly, she turned shy. "Or not . . . . I mean, if you just want to free day to relax . . . . I know that tomorrow night will be hectic. We can just meet tomorrow and go over our game plan then," she offered.

"No, San Telmo sounds good. Who knows when I'll be in Buenos Aires again, especially with my own over-priced tour guide?" Steve teased.

"Over-priced? At thirty thousand dollars, I'm a steal," she shot back, but there was a smile on her face.

"Thirty thousand dollars a steal? You know, in 1945, I could have bought three houses for thirty thousand dollars," he retorted, trying to suppress a chuckle.

"Inflation must have hit you hard when you got defrosted. What happened when you first went to Starbucks and saw the price of a latte?" she asked.

"I kept thinking it was a joke. And the size of the coffee? Who really needs thirty ounces of coffee?"

Alma laughed. "I know. I know."


	15. Chapter 15

**Ch. 15**

**Bienvenidos**

**Feria de San Pedro Telmo**

**Domingos de 10.00 a 17.00**

**Plaza Dorrego***

Steve looked around the bustling San Telmo street market, crowded with people who were walking the narrow cobblestoned streets. There were dozens and dozens of stalls, full of antiques and jewelry as well as other various sundry items. He smiled at the majority of the "antiques" as they would have been right at home in his mother's apartment or his grandparents' house. And quite a few items were from long after the 1940s. Seeing a telephone from the 1960s marketed as an antique seemed a bit of a stretch.

The variety of items available to buy at the market was mind-blowing. There were brass pots, intricate lamps with decorated fabric shades, hand blown vases in a rainbow of colors. There were hand carved chess boards and every different type of leather good you could imagine. Steve saw gorgeous paintings for sale that tried to capture the essence of the vibrant city. He also saw the requisite tourist trap items, the T-shirts, the postcards, the kitschy magnets.

He looked over at Alma next to him, her face softened with delight and joy. He was taken aback at how very lovely she was, her flashing dark eyes, her long lashes, her full mouth. He had an urge to sketch her, to try his best to recreate her beauty on paper.

He briefly shook his head, clearing his thoughts. Sam was right. Steve needed to figure out if his attraction to her was to due to her availability or to the fact that he really cared about her as a person.

"Penny for your thoughts," Alma said impishly.

Steve colored at being caught out. "They're worth a lot more than that," he said warmly. "Kind of crowded today, isn't it?"

"It's like this most Sundays," she observed. "Be careful of pickpockets."

"I'm sure I'll be fine," he said.

A large group of people brushed past them. Alma was bumped and ended up colliding with Steve, her hand on his chest. Instinctively, he put his arm around her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Fine, but like I said, be careful of pickpockets," she said. With that, she showed him his wallet in her free hand.

"How did you . . . ?" he asked, pocketing his wallet.

"Oh, I'm a woman of many talents."

Steve smiled. "So I've learned."

"Hungry?" she asked.

"Ravenous."

"There's a great stall with some empanadas down the way a bit. You can buy me a couple."

"Oh, really?" he asked, eyebrow cocked.

"Yes, another one of my amazing skills is getting a handsome man to buy me meals. C'mon."

He grinned, following behind her. _She said handsome man_, he thought.

000000

After a haphazard meal of empanadas and freshly squeezed orange juice, they walked down the street together side by side. Steve had eaten five of the warm meat pies and had drunk at least three glasses of the orange juice. Alma had teased him about his appetite, but he couldn't resist the delicious food.

Steve was overwhelmed by the variety of street performers at the festival. Some sang lively songs, some played the drums, others were painted gold and acted as statues. His favorite, though, were the tango exhibitions.

He saw the dancers' limbs intertwined in an intimate, intense dance that made him want to blush. It wasn't that it was at all lascivious, it was the intent look on the dancers faces that made it seem as they were focusing only on each other, as if the the rest of the world didn't exist. It made Steve feel uncomfortably like a voyeur, as though he were peering at a private moment between the two.

"Maybe when it's all over, I can teach you to tango," Alma offered, gesturing to the two dancers at the corner.

"I don't know if I can afford lessons," he chuckled, doing his best to chase away the image of Alma's leg wrapped around his.

"They'll be on the house," she said with a wink.

They walked past a man who had set up a specialized chair for massages and Alma stopped, gesturing towards his stall.

"Have you ever had one?" Alma asked.

"Uh, no," Steve said.

"Oh, these guys are great. You've got to try it at least once."

Steve looked at the odd chair that made the clients lean over, resting their faces on a donut shaped cushion.

"I don't think so," he said skeptically.

"I insist," Alma said, pressing a few coins in the massage therapist's hand and speaking to him in rapid Spanish.

Steve shrugged, sitting down and placing his face awkwardly on the cushion in front of him.

"Close your eyes," Alma insisted and Steve complied.

He felt the massage therapist's fingers began to work the muscles along his shoulders. He felt them travel done his back kneading the skin on either side of his spine. He felt gentle, firm pressure on the back of his neck, rubbing every bit of tension away. He was a bit surprised as he felt fingernails lightly scratch his scalp, sending tingles throughout his body.

"See, I told you I had amazing skills," Alma breathed into his ear.

Steve turned his head and was surprised to see Alma mere inches away.

"You?" he asked.

"I wanted to be your first," she said with a saucy grin. "C'mon, I still have some shopping to go."

"So, are you looking for something specific?" Steve asked as they walked down a bit farther. They had been walking around for almost an hour.

"Just a few souvenirs. A mate and bombilla. Maybe a couple of postcards."

Steve cocked his head to the side. "Why souvenirs?"

Alma bit her lip, clearly a bit indecisive. She took a deep breath. "Pablo gave me a passport yesterday. Once I finish this mission with you, get you the information that you need, I'm free. I can go anywhere."

Steve stopped, looking down at Alma. "If Pablo gave you the passport yesterday, why are you still here? Why didn't you just leave? I know you're worried about your past enemies catching up to you."

"I made a promise that I'd help you. You saved my life. I always clear my debts," she said firmly.

"Is that the only reason you stayed? Because you feel like you owe me something?" Steve asked, staring her in the eyes.

Alma looked away, not able to meet his gaze. Then, Alma stiffened a bit, peering out into the crowd. She moved to stand in front of him, slipping her hands around his waist, pressing a cheek against his chest.

"We've picked up at tail. Eleven o'clock."

Steve surreptitiously looked over and saw a large man in a long-sleeved blue shirt and jeans that looked vaguely familiar.

"Are you sure?" he asked as he hugged her back, keeping up the pretense of being together and not minding it a bit.

"Imagine him in one of the suits that they were wearing last night at Pavlov's estate," she instructed.

Steve glanced back and sure enough, Alma was right. The man was a dead ringer for one of the security guards at Pavlov's home.

"What do you want to do?" Steve asked, taking advantage of the moment to glide a hand along her long tresses.

"As long as he's watching us, we have to keep playing the fake couple. If you want, we can split up. Maybe he'll just follow me."

Steve pulled away slightly and looked down at Alma. "I don't want to do that. I don't want to expose you to any more danger."

She gave him a genuine smile. "So you don't mind playing the fake boyfriend for the rest of the day?"

"Not at all," he said with a smirk.

00000

After finally selecting a mate and bombilla as well as a leather belt, Alma suggested they walk over to the museum. They walked hand and hand, swinging their arms playfully. Alma noticed their tail following them. He hung back a bit, but he wasn't especially good at surveillance. She suspected that Pavlov had hired him more for his muscle than for his undercover work.

She looked over at Steve, a smile playing on his lips. She regretted this entire outing. Her goal had been to quickly finish the mission with Steve and get out of the country as soon as possible. His insistence on playing the couple muddied the waters. It was far from the first time that she had to play the adoring girlfriend for undercover work. She done it with fellow agents. She done it to fool the marks that believed that she really cared for them.

But a part of her knew that this time was different. A part of her knew that when she slipped her hand in his, when she let her hands wander across his chest, when she laid her cheek against him, when she had massaged his back, when he had held her gently in his arms the night before as she sobbed. It wasn't that he was good-looking, even though Alma would be hard-pressed to think of a more attractive man that she had ever met. He was sweet and kind and caring and utterly unlike what she had expected.

Before the breakdown of S.H.I.E.L.D., she had known him by reputation only. He was one of the heroes of the Battle of New York, one of the Avengers that had saved the world from a horrific fate. When she had heard that he had become a part of S.H.I.E.L.D., she had been proud to be a part of the same organization.

Then, a few weeks ago, everything fell apart. She felt betrayed that one of their own had participated in the destruction of the organization that she had dedicated her entire life to. The disastrous ripples that emanated from the collapse of S.H.I.E.L.D. had spread like a cancer. Agents being slaughtered by the dozens, missions crumbling before their eyes, criminals being set free in droves. She tried to reconcile the blinding hatred that she felt when she thought of the disintegration of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the growing affection she was feeling for the man beside her. She had never felt so conflicted in her life. She tried to guard her heart, shield her emotions, not let herself give in to sentiment. Despite her developing feelings for him, her heart was still utterly broken over what he had done.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said, playfully.

She faked a grin, doing her best to hide her inner turmoil. "They're worth a lot more than that."

00000

"I'm glad I came here with you," Alma said as they looked at one piece after another. "I have to admit, my appreciation of modern art ends with Picasso."

Steve gave her a grin. "I guess it just takes a willingness to see things with new eyes."

"Doesn't it seem odd to you, though? Most of these prints just seem like random geometric shapes to me."

Steve thought for a moment. "Yes and no. I feel like art was just beginning to shift in the 1940s. I missed out on all these different movements that revolutionized what art could be. I feel like all these external limits on what art could and couldn't be have been demolished, completely destroyed."

"And you like that."

"I love it. The freedom of expression. The new ways that artists are trying to create beauty and truth," he said. He looked down, a bashful expression on his face. "I guess that sounds kind of hokey."

"No, I can understand. Do you ever miss it? Do you ever miss trying to create beauty and truth? Do ever miss being an artist?" she asked, waving to the canvases in front of them.

"Sometimes. I miss sketching."

"So, what's the last thing you wanted to sketch?" she asked.

"You."

* * *

**Author's Note-**

*Rough Spanish Translation of sign

Welcome

San Pedro de Telmo Fair

Sundays 10 a.m.- 5 p.m.

Dorrego Plaza (square)

mate, bombilla- gourd for making mate (similar to tea) and a silver straw to go with it


	16. Chapter 16

**Ch. 16**

"Me? Why would you want to sketch me?"

Steve took a step towards Alma, smiling down at her. "Now who's fishing for compliments?"

For a second, Alma felt like she couldn't breathe as he grinned broadly at her. It had gone too far. She had let herself be lulled into an easy companionship of teasing banter and light flirting. She had indulged herself, enjoying being with him, spending time with him. But the look in his eyes wasn't that of a casual acquaintance, of an easy-going friend.

"Let's go look in the next room. The museum closes at five. We should make sure we see the rest of the paintings before it does. I want to be certain that I earn my keep as your private tour guide," she said lightly, turning to go.

"Hey, wait. Did I say something? Are you sore at me?" he asked, jogging to catch up to her, grabbing her arm to stop her.

Alma battled to keep her voice steady as she turned and gave him a bright, false smile. "No, I just want to make sure that you get to see everything. Who knows when you'll get another chance to see this part of Buenos Aires?"

Steve narrowed his eyes at that. "You're normally a better liar than this."

Alma bit down on her lower lip to keep herself from lashing out. "What do you want?"

"What do you mean?" Steve asked.

"You know what I mean. This is a job. We finish the mission and we part ways. That's it," she insisted.

"Are you really only here because I'm paying you? Is that really the only reason?" Steve demanded softly. He began to massage her arm with his thumb, staring down at her intently, not giving an inch.

Alma tensed because he was too close to the truth. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to be honest. For once. Tell me that you feel the same way that I feel about you."

Alma's breath caught. There it was. Out in the open. Exactly what she'd been hoping to avoid.

"You want honest? An employer coerces his female employee into playing his girlfriend for an assignment and then makes a pass at her. That enough honesty for you?" she snapped, desperately trying to find anything to say to push him away.

Steve let go of her and took a step back, a horrified look on his face. "Is that how you see it?"

She looked down, not able to meet his gaze. "That's how it has to be."

"Why?" he asked.

Her head snapped up. "Because you still don't get it. You have no idea of the carnage that happened after what you did. All the pain that you caused. It's all just words to you. All just collateral damage. You've destroyed the only family I ever really had. You betrayed the only loyalty I ever knew. I can't let myself . . ." Alma's eyes flew open at that, realizing she had said too much.

"You won't let yourself fall for me," he stated. "But you already have."

He smiled as started towards her once again but she backed away, staying out of arm's reach.

"It doesn't matter. None of it matters. I'm finishing the job, getting you the information you need and that's it. I'm gone the second it's finished." She swallowed thickly, each word dull and painful. "This was a bad idea. Look, I'll meet you tomorrow at the hotel at four to go over the plan for Pavlov's yacht. I need to go."

She turned to leave and Steve moved to block her way. "Alma, don't go."

Alma looked up at him, desperate to leave before he saw her cry, before she broke down, before she gave in. "Please, just please let me leave."

"What about our shadow?" Steve asked, pointing towards Pavlov's goon in the next room.

She gave him a bitter smile. "Couples fight all the time. If anything, it strengthens our cover. Can I just go?" Her voice broke on the last word.

He looked down at her for a long moment before nodding and stepping aside.

Alma made it to the lobby before hot tears began to spill down her cheeks.

000000

Alma wandered around the city aimlessly for a while, trying to calm herself down, trying to keep her emotions in check. She was angry at herself for letting it get to this point, for backing herself into a corner. It had all happened so fast. She knew she couldn't let whatever it was between them develop any further, but she berated herself for encouraging Steve. She winced when she recalled the hurt look on his face.

She took a shaky breath. She could do this. She would just focus on being a professional, on doing the job that she was hired to do. She would bury any emotions.

She looked up after a few hours of walking and realized that she was on the same street as Pablo's store. As she walked by, she saw that it was closed, which made sense on a Sunday. However, she knew that he lived with his folks in a large apartment right over the store.

She took a deep breath and buzzed his apartment.

"**Hola**?" A voice crackled over the intercom system.

"Pablo?"

"¿**Sí**?

"It's Alma. I was thinking . . . can I come up?"

"Sure . . . sure," he said, buzzing her in.

Alma walked the two flights of stairs up to the apartment, knocking on the door when she arrived. Pablo's father opened the door, beaming at her. Her ushered her in.

"Pablo, **tu novia está aquí**," Pablo's father called out with a grin and then wandered into the kitchen to talk to his wife.

Alma peeked around the apartment. It was nicely furnished and easily twice the size of hers with hardwood floors and a huge television in one corner.

"It's nice to see you, Alma," Pablo said warily as he entered the living room.

"It's nice to see you, too," Alma said blandly, wondering what possessed her to come there of all places.

"Is everything alright?" Pablo asked.

"Um . . . everything's great," Alma lied.

There was a long awkward moment between them as they both shifted uncomfortably.

"Have you had dinner?" Alma asked suddenly. "Maybe we could go out? I'd like to talk."

Pablo gave her a confused look, but then shrugged. "Sounds good. Let me grab a jacket."

000000

As they began to walk down the street together, Pablo looked over at Alma. "Alma, I've known you for five years and you've never once talked to me outside of a business transaction. What's up? Are the passports good? I double-checked them. To be honest, I triple-checked them."

"No, that's not it. They're wonderful. You did great work. You always do great work."

"So, what's up? Not that I mind a beautiful woman taking me to dinner. You are paying, right?" he teased.

"I asked you, so yes," she said and she felt her mood already begin to lighten.

They stopped at a well-known pizza place at the end of the block that Pablo recommended. It was crowded for a Sunday night and they were lucky to grab a free table in a relatively quiet back corner after a young family vacated it. The bustling, popular restaurant was brightly lit, the floors and walls covered in white and red tiles. The emphasis was on the delicious food rather than the ambiance. The smell of melting cheese and tangy tomato sauce made Alma's stomach growl as they walked in the door.

After a few minutes of going back and forth, they settled on a thick pizza covered in mounds of mozzarella cheese. They didn't talk much after ordering, practically inhaling the pizza when it arrived. Alma hadn't realized how ravenous she had been. Once they were both on their third slice, Pablo smiled over at Alma. "Okay, so out with it, why are we having dinner?"

"You know, you're the only one left in Buenos Aires who actually knows who I really am. Heck, I even use an alias at church," Alma confessed.

Pablo gave her a rueful grin. "I'm honored, I guess."

"Do you ever wish your life had gone a different way?" Alma asked.

"I'm nearly thirty years old and I still live with my parents. What do you think?" Pablo said with a trace of bitterness before taking another bite and washing it down with a swig of beer.

"Why do you still live with them? With all the money S.H.I.E.L.D. has paid you over the years . . ."

Pablo looked down at the pizza, snagging another slice. "My dad. He has a gambling problem. If I ever left, . . . "

"He and your mom would be in bad shape," Alma supplied, wincing at having brought up such a sore subject.

"Probably out on the streets," he said.

"You're a good son."

Pablo smirked at that, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "That's kind, especially considering how I make my money."

"There are worse ways. Maybe if I had been a better daughter. . . " She remembered the awful fights with her parents as a teen, sneaking out until the wee hours of the morning. Ever since she joined S.H.I.E.L.D., her contact with them had been limited to stilted Christmas cards.

"You were quite the little felon in your younger days, weren't you?"

Alma's eyes widened. "You read my files?"

Pablo shrugged. "Couldn't help myself. You were almost as good as me for a time."

Alma smiled, taking a bite of the pizza.

"So . . . this bout of introspection doesn't have anything to do with the male model you brought in yesterday?" Pablo asked.

Alma gulped. "That transparent?"

"I saw the way he looked at you."

"Maybe if things were different . . ." She wondered what it would have been like to have met Steve before everything had gone so very wrong.

"So what's the deal with him? You obviously trust him enough to go on a mission with him."

Pablo was right. She trusted Steve with her life. She just wasn't sure she could trust him with her heart.

"He did something. Something horrible."

"To you? Did he hurt you? You don't ever have to put up with that, Alma," Pablo said urgently, his fingers gripping the table top.

Alma smiled to see Pablo leap to defend her. "No . . . nothing like that. He did something that he thought was the right thing at the time, and maybe it even was, but the fallout was . . . catastrophic."

"And you don't think you can forgive him?"

"It's hard to forgive someone who doesn't think they did anything wrong," she said, leaning back in her chair. She brushed the Parmesan cheese off her fingers and offered him the rest of the pizza.

"Maybe forgiveness had more to do with freeing yourself than freeing him. I wasted years of my life being angry at my father. I felt like I spent all this time trying to swim and there he was, an anchor around my neck. But . . . he isn't just his worst flaw. And one day, I just decided to let it go. And I feel better. He hasn't changed, but I have."

"I don't know if I can do that," Alma admitted.

"Then you may end up punishing yourself more than him."

* * *

**Author's notes**-

1. Rough Spanish translation-

Hello

Yes

Your girlfriend is here.

2. A guest reviewer, Hannah, had wanted to see a bit more of Pablo, so I decided to use him in this scene.

3. Thank you to each person who has reviewed, followed, or favorited this story. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your encouragement.


	17. Chapter 17

**Ch. 17**

After she left the museum, Steve didn't see Alma for the rest of the day. He walked aimlessly around the modern art museum, taking no joy in what he was seeing anymore. His only consolation was that their tail had decided to stay with him instead of following Alma out. The last thing he wanted was for her to be put in any more danger.

He kept going over the day over and over again in his mind. At first, he berated himself for breaking the spell they had both been under, the teasing jokes, the bantering conversation. Ever since he had woken up in the future, he had a hard time connecting with anyone. He had enjoyed working with Natasha and he admired the way that she had risked everything to take down Hydra. She was loyal and trustworthy and there were few people in the world he could count on like he could on her. Sam's friendship had been unexpected and he was sure he wouldn't have ever made it it this far in his search for Bucky without him.

But, his feelings for Alma went beyond friendship. He knew it was a horrible time to start a relationship of any kind, that he should just focus all his efforts on reversing what happened to Bucky, but he couldn't help the way he felt about her. He kept thinking about the last twenty-four hours. The way she touched him. The soft curve of her half-smile. The way she'd wink at him after telling him a joke. Her reaction in the museum seemed to indicate that she felt the same way about him. However, she kept clinging to her anger over his takedown of S.H.I.E.L.D. He was certain that her unwillingness to look past what he did was holding her back from admitting what she felt.

Steve left the museum about twenty minutes after Alma. He grabbed an early dinner at a fast food restaurant, not even tasting the food. He considered visiting Sam, but when he checked his phone, he saw that it was past visiting hours. He shrugged and decided to see him the next day.

He was still keyed up and full of anxious energy. He headed back to his hotel room to change into some workout clothes. He was pleasantly surprised to see that both adjoining doors had been fixed and had been left slightly ajar, although he winced when he thought about the price for the repairs. He changed and then took the stairs, two at a time, down to the ground floor.

Once on the streets, he was mindful to keep his running to a slow jog. The last thing he needed was for his tail to figure out who he was by the fact that he could outrun city traffic. He couldn't see anyone resembling one of Pavlov's men anywhere, but Alma had made him paranoid enough that he didn't want to take his chances. Even at his slow pace, he was able to relax and clear his thoughts.

He focused on feeling of his feet hitting the pavement, of breathing in and out. He tried to let go of everything and just breathe. As he looked around the city that Alma seemed to love so much, a small smile began to play on his lips. He could see why she was so enamoured with it, why she was reluctant to leave. He could have run for hours, could have explored half the city without feeling tired but he cut his run short to avoid raising suspicion.

He walked slowly up the stairs to his hotel room, briefly remembering that such an act would have left him panting and breathless before he had the serum. He wondered what would have happened if he had never gone through the procedure. Would he have just sat out the war, spending his time collecting scrap metal and buying war bonds? Or, would Hydra just have overrun everything, obliterating all that stood in their path?

As soon as he shut the hotel door behind him, he stripped off his workout clothes and started the shower. He stood under the spray, keeping the water as hot as he could stand it, letting the heat relax him. He wanted to stay in there for hours, but too soon, the water turned cool and then cold and he stepped out of the stall. He towelled himself off and put on a fresh undershirt and sweats, deciding to watch T.V. until he could fall asleep.

000000

Steve finally clicked off the T.V. and decided to go to bed around eleven that night. He knew the next night was going to a be a long one and the last thing he needed was to be sleep-deprived. Just as he was starting to drift off to sleep, he heard Alma cry out in her dreams. He debated going to her once again, not wanting to push in where he wasn't wanted, but her cries were so wretched and pitiful that he couldn't help himself. He padded over to the open adjoining doors, glad that for once he wouldn't need to batter them down.

"No, please. No! Please, don't!" she cried out.

Once again, the moonlight streamed into her hotel room, illuminating Alma and giving her an almost ethereal glow. She was thrashing wildly in her bed, desperate and panicking. She had thrown the blankets off of her and her long black negligee was bunched up around her knees. He walked over to her, taking her in his arms as he sat on the edge of the bed. "It's okay, Alma. It's just a nightmare. You're safe."

Her eyes flew open and she clung to him. "Oh, Steve," she began and he could feel her tears spill across his chest. Steve held her for an eternity, time standing still, whispering soft words of comfort, hoping to quiet her trembling.

"You're safe. You don't have to be frightened. I'll always be here for you. I'll always protect you," he kept repeating, trying to soothe away the terror that seemed to consume her.

Finally, she looked up at him, her hands slowly sliding up his arms to his neck and then, to his chin, holding on tightly, almost painfully. "We could . . . . we could make it work, couldn't we?" she whispered urgently. "There's got to be a way we could be together, right? There's just got to be a way."

Steve nodded, not trusting himself to speak, not wanting to break the spell of the moment.

She pulled him in close, tentatively kissing him and then, becoming almost frantic as he responded in kind. He felt the satiny texture of her nightgown under his fingertips as he caressed her back, not wanting the kiss to ever end. After a moment, she pulled away slightly, leaning her forehead against his, looking down, her breath ragged.

"Steve, I . . . I think I love y-."

00000

Steve awoke with a start. He was in his own bed, his own breath labored, his own pulse racing from the vivid images. _A dream_, he thought bitterly. _Of course._ He groaned when he saw that the alarm clock read that it was nearly two in the morning. He rose and walked over to the adjoining doors. He cracked them open and saw that she was peacefully asleep, wearing the same pajamas as the night before.

No black negligee.

No passionate kisses.

No declaration of love.

He shook his head and sighed as he settled back into bed.

Well, at least I figured out one thing, Steve thought as he scratched his head. I know exactly how I feel about her.

He punched his pillow out of frustration. Unfortunately, he punched it a bit too hard, sending stuffing all over his bed. He moaned slightly as he laid his head down on the misshapen pillow.

It ended up being a long night for Steve.

00000

When Steve finally woke up the next morning, it was nearly nine. He stretched and was chagrinned to see the bed covered in thick, white stuffing, his pillow now just an empty case. He rolled out of bed and walked over to the adjoining doors. Even though they were slightly open, he knocked on them gently. After a moment or two of silence, he peeked in and saw that Alma's bed was made and her purse seemed to be gone.

He sighed and debated calling or texting her. Then, he decided against it. He would give her the time that she'd asked for and just plan on seeing her at four that afternoon.

He hated having the hotel maid clean up after him, so he made his bed and stuffed the stuffing back into the pillow through the hole he had made. He found a tiny sewing kit tucked into one of the hotel drawers in the bathroom and he sewed the hole in the pillow case. After his mother passed away, he had to darn his own socks and repair the rips and tears in his own clothing.

Once he'd finished, he quickly dressed and left the hotel room, once again taking the stairs to reach the ground floor. As he walked into a nearby cafe for breakfast, he looked around. He didn't notice anyone familiar, but he knew that didn't mean anything. The idea that his every movement might be monitored put him on edge.

He ordered a dozen medialunas and a cup of coffee, fully intending on saving some to bring for Sam, but he was ravenous and before he knew it, the plate that had once been piled high with pastries was empty save for a few stray crumbs. He shook his head and ordered a dozen more, leaving the cafe with a paper bag brimming with goodies.

00000

How are you doing?" Steve asked Sam as he entered into his hospital. He handed the bag of pastries to Sam and Sam split up the pastries between him and his bodyguard.

"Great. I'm amazed at how much better I feel. They're going to discharge me tomorrow. They've got me on some killer pain pills, so no driving for a while. Flying, either," he chuckled.

"Good. That's wonderful. What time should I come by to pick you up?"

"Maybe around noon?" Sam said tentatively. "You know how hospitals are. You think you'll be out at nine and then the doctor doesn't come by till twelve."

"Sounds good," Steve said. He turned to the bodyguard. "Would you mind waiting outside?"

The bodyguard shrugged and grabbed a half dozen of the medialunas before he left.

"Not very talkative, is he?" Steve observed.

"He's alright. I guess none of them will play poker with me anymore, since I keep winning. So the big meet's tonight?" Sam sat up in bed and stretched, clicking off the morning news that had been softly playing on the T.V. mounted overhead.

"Yeah," Steve said unenthusiastically.

"So, what's up? You seem a little off," Sam observed.

"It's one of those good news, bad news things."

"So, what's the good news?"

"I definitely know that I like Alma. More than like actually," Steve confessed as he sat down next to Sam's bed.

"Well, that's great, man. So, what's the bad news?"

"I tried to tell her and she just took off. I haven't talked to her since yesterday."

"Well, she did seem pretty pissed at you when we met. About what you did with all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s info. Putting it on-line like that," Sam said gently.

"I know. Sam, it was the only way. The only way to truly get rid of Hydra . . . ."

"Was to get rid of S.H.I.E.L.D. I know. It made sense. But even the best option has consequences."

Steve winced. "I know."

"Did you have any idea what would happen afterwards? To all the loyal S.H.I.E.L.D. agents? To all of the on-going missions? All of the informants that got compromised?" Sam asked.

"Yes. No. I don't know. I just knew that it was the only real choice at the time."

"From her file, she seemed like a pretty dedicated agent. Now, with all her information on-line like at, she can never really work undercover again."

"So, you're saying that's it? She'll never get past it?" Steve stood and began to walk around the small room.

"Maybe she will, maybe she won't. You know her better than I do."

"At this point, I don't know. I really don't know," Steve admitted.

00000

"Where have you been?" Steve asked when he finally saw Alma that afternoon. He had spent nearly the whole day with Sam, playing cards and laughing at the bad soap operas that constituted daytime television. When he returned to his hotel room at half past three, he tried to review his cover dossier with his alter ego's supposed crimes and was frustrated that he had lost a page. He couldn't focus, however, and he ended up spending the rest of the time pacing his room until he heard Alma opening the door of her hotel room a few minutes before four.

He could see her tense, but she motioned for him to enter her room. "Out. I needed to round up some supplies for tonight."

She leaned down to get something out of her backpack and he saw an angry red mark on her face as she turned. "What happened to your chin?"

"Some of the things that I needed to pick up were back at my old apartment. I ran into a couple of Moreno's pals. We had a . . . . disagreement."

Steve's eyes widened. She had put herself in danger for him, for his mission and he hadn't been there to protect her. "Why did you do that? I would have gone with you."

"I know. I just needed some time." She walked over to the bathroom and picked up a large white bottle on the counter. She opened it, dropping a handful of pills onto her palm and then swallowed them dry.

"What was that?" he asked sharply.

"Ibuprofen. There are times that I practically live on the stuff," she explained and sat down on her bed with a small sigh, rubbing her eyes. Steve noticed how weary she seemed, how the weight of the world seemed to be on her shoulders.

"We need to talk," Steve insisted.

She looked up and gave him a wan smile. "You always seem to be saying that to me."

Steve chuckled for a moment, the tension between them melting a bit as he remembered when they met. "Yeah. That first day was a little . . . tense."

"To say the least. Look, can we just focus on getting through tonight? I don't want to walk in on a dangerous mission with my mind clouded with . . . all of this."

"And if things go sour?" He hated leaving things unsaid between them.

She shrugged. "Then it'll all be a moot point."


End file.
